Rewind
by Merlin71
Summary: Chase is starting to self destruct. Can House and the other ducklings save him? Will Chase even want to be saved?
1. Chapter 1

**REWIND...part one**

They were conferencing when Wilson entered the room, barging in and looking unsettled.

Chase noticed him first and felt himself tense up for no reason. Instinct maybe. He knew he wasn't going to like what Wilson had to say. He wasn't disappointed.

"There's a woman in the lobby looking for Chase," Wilson announced.

"Tell her he's busy," House interjected, without missing a beat. "We're...working. Or rather, I'm working and they're pretending they know what I'm doing."

Wilson looked like he was resisting rolling his eyes before they focused on Chase. "She's being rather...vocal."

Chase felt himself sinking lower into his chair and he wished he could hide from the four pairs of curious eyes that had glommed onto him. "Could you please ask her to wait?" he asked Wilson. Chase knew if he left now that House would taunt him about it later. Endlessly. He wasn't feeling up to being humiliated right at this moment. He just wanted to make it through the day and go home and hibernate. At least until tomorrow morning when he had to come back to work.

"She doesn't strike me as the patient type," Wilson countered, looking apologetic.

"I can't walk out right now!" Chase protested, even though it wasn't Wilson's fault. He was simply the messenger.

But House was looking amused as he stated, "Go ahead, Chase. We'll wait for you. I'll even have Cameron take notes while you're gone so you don't miss anything."

Chase saw Cameron glare at House, even as he found himself rising to his feet. He knew who was waiting for him and it was better to go, even though he would face the music from House later. He was more adept at tuning House out now anyway. He had learned that from tuning out his mother during her drunken binges. Binges that had happened all too frequently throughout his childhood and up to the time of her death. "I won't be long," he said, nodding curtly at House before slipping out the door.

He didn't see House wait a beat before turning to Wilson and pushing him out the door to follow him.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Wilson protested, but it sounded like token resistance. Especially since he walked along without further nudging.

"You know you want too," House sing-songed. "So, what's she like?" he prompted, only to turn and glare at Foreman and Cameron who were hot on his heels. "You two have tests to run and stuff. Go do it." He watched them slink off, looking pissed at him. Which made him feel good because it meant he hadn't lost his touch.

Foreman wasn't so easily dismissed. "Chase is supposed to do the procedure," he stated.

House shrugged. "I'll send him along when he's done chatting up his lady friend."

"You shouldn't interfere," Cameron interjected, disapproval dripping from her tone.

"I shouldn't do a lot of things," House countered, smirking. Then he waved a dismissive hand at Foreman and Cameron, before setting a brisk pace down the corridor. Or as brisk as he could with his limp.

Wilson watched the duckling's go, then ran to catch up before answering House's question. "She's older, looks like she's in her late forties. Expensively dressed. Auburn hair. Attractive."

House stared at Wilson in surprise. "Did you take notes? Good eye for detail, duude," he drawled, sarcasm oozing from every pore, before limping quickly ahead.

Chase came as close to running as he dared, having taken the stairs in lieu of the elevator. It was faster that way. But he was a bit out of breath as he reached the lobby. He glanced around a moment, before hearing a rather sharp voice calling his name. He tensed before he turned around, a perfect smile on his face.

An auburn-haired woman, dressed in an expensive dark suit, moved forward to greet him. She was a bit unsteady in her stride, as if she wasn't quite comfortable in her matching pumps. When she reached Chase she gripped his face in both hands and kissed him, lewdly.

Breaking the kiss as quick as he could, Chase backed away into a shadowy corner, snagging the woman by the hands and taking her with him. "Vanessa...we can't do that here," he chided.

"I'm rich and powerful, beautiful. I can do anything I want," she purred, stealing yet another kiss as she pressed him back against the wall. In her heels she was about as tall as he was and she put her height to good use, keeping him pinned. Shoving one knee between his, she pushed into his crotch, laughing when he gasped loudly. She then let one hand roam into his hair, fingers curling tightly to hold him still while she devoured his mouth.

Chase let it happen, knowing that to resist would just make things worse. He kissed her back and eventually she let him break away. "Why are you here?" he asked, keeping his tone light and neutral. He didn't want her to get pissed off. She was loud and vocal when angry.

Vanessa pouted at him, eyes narrowing and causing the age lines around her eyes to deepen. No cosmetic surgery in the world could reverse the affect of too much sun. Age had a hand in things too. "I came to see you," Vanessa whispered, leaning in to nip a bite against his chin. "I missed you. Come play hookey with me, beautiful. We can go shopping or something, then back home and to bed." She popped the top button of his shirt.

"I can't!" Chase heard the desperation in his voice as he stopped her fingers and buttoned back up. "You know I can't just leave work, Vanessa. We've talked about this."

"Yes, we have!" She snapped. "And I told you I'll set you up in your own practice. We can open one here and in Europe. You'll be rich and be your own boss."

Chase grimaced, not wanting to repeat an old argument. "You know I don't want you doing that," he said firmly. "Besides which I have enough money as it is." His mother had left all of her estate to him. She had brought old money into her marriage, and since he was an only child, Chase had gotten everything. Not that he cared that much about it. In fact, he had put everything into an account and had yet to do anything with it but let it earn interest. He didn't use a penny on himself.

Vanessa heaved a put upon sigh. "Which is why I don't understand your insistence on working here. You can do anything you want and be in charge of your own practice."

"I've got more learning to do," Chase countered, reaching up to swipe the back of one hand over his mouth. His skin came away clean. Thankfully, Vanessa used smear-proof lipstick.

"I'm horny," Vanessa leaned in and whispered softly in his ear.

Chase bit off a squeak as one of her hands strayed to his crotch and squeezed. Sex with Vanessa was good, although she did tend to be insatiable at times. Borderline nymphomaniac, unless he missed his guess. "I'll try and be home early tonight," Chase promised, even though he knew it was unlikely he'd get out before dark. They tended to pull twenty hour shifts or longer when they had a new case.

Vanessa knew he was trying to placate her and she scowled at him. "It's close enough to lunch time that you can slip away for a quickie. I have the limo so we can just drive around the block a few times and I'll have you back before you're missed."

"I can't." Chase pushed them both out of the corner and started guiding Vanessa towards the exit. "Look, you go home and take a long nap. That way if I am late tonight...you'll be rested and ready. I'll let you...you know...use the silk ties tonight." As he said it, he felt himself blushing. Vanessa was into bondage and had been begging him to let her tie him up. Chase hadn't been willing in the past, but if it would get her to leave, he was willing to promise just about anything. The fact that he could taste, as well as smell, alcohol on her, made it all the more urgent that she leave now. Vanessa usually held her liquor better, so he knew she would be ready for a very public melt down if he didn't appease her.

"You promise, beautiful?" Vanessa asked, looking excited but a bit doubtful.

Chase nodded and kissed her. "Promise," he whispered, and he could only hope she would forget about it by the time he got home. That or be dead to the world. When he wasn't there for dinner she tended to have too many glasses of wine and was passed out by the time he came home. Which was why they more often than not had sex early in the morning, right before he had to get up to shower and get to work.

Vanessa eyed him carefully then nodded. She let him lead her to the exit and nodded that she was good to go.

"See you later," Chase said, feeling relief wash over him. He turned to go then yelped when fingers pinched his ass hard. He heard Vanessa chuckle softly but didn't turn back around. Instead he ran for the stairs.

"Time to go," House said, bundling Wilson into the elevator. He needed to be back in his office before Chase got there. Hopefully the Aussie would take a few extra minutes to compose himself. "That was interesting," House commented to his companion.

Wilson heaved a sigh. "Don't interfere in his personal life."

House snorted. "Would I do that?" he countered with an arched eyebrow. Of course they both knew he would. He expected his underlings to be focused and ready to do their jobs. Lives depended on it. Instinct told House that his Aussie duckling was a bit more messed up than usual and he had every intention of nipping any further breakage in the bud.

"Chase is an adult, House," Wilson countered, in what seemed to be an attempt to get him to see reason. "He can date whomever he likes."

"She's old," House countered, watching Wilson roll his eyes right on cue. "She's too old for you, and by that I mean older than you because we both know you like 'em younger. Which makes her way too old for Chase."

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose then offered a word of advice. "Let Chase live his own life. The last few times you tried to help, you just made things worse for him."

House almost flinched at that, turning it into a careless shrug. "You know what they say...practice makes perfect." At which point the elevator doors opened and he waved goodbye to Wilson, limping off to his office.

OoO

House had just managed to get seated behind his desk, tossing his striped ball into the air, when Chase strode into the room. He studied the young doctor for a moment, taking note of how rattled he appeared. It showed in his eyes, in his demeanor and in his appearance. His hair was tousled and his clothes were a bit mussed. From all the groping the red-head had done, House knew. He continued watching as Chase came to an abrupt halt, noticed that the room was empty and started to turn away.

"I...I'll go run those tests and things," Chase stammered.

"Who's the old chick?" House called out. Which got Chase's attention, rather like a slap would have. House watched him turn to face him, eyes wide, body vibrating with tension.

Chase turned a shade paler as he whispered, "What?"

House set the ball aside and leaned forward in his chair, eyes locked on Chase's face. He looked completely flummoxed. "I asked who the old chick was?" House repeated. "The red-head in the lobby." He watched Chase swallow hard, maybe swallowing down a sharp retort. His blond duckling wasn't one for confrontations. He much preferred to distract and deflect.

"She's younger than you are!" Chase snapped, apparently deciding that a good offense was the way to go.

"But I'm not dating you," House pointed out, in what he thought was a reasonable way. He grinned at Chase's discomfort, because now the pale cheeks were flushed red. "Spill," he ordered.

But Chase was ready to stand his ground. His eyes were icy blue as he hissed, "If all you want to do is harass me about my private life, then I have a procedure to do!" That said, Chase turned sharply on his heel and made to leave.

Only House was no where near finished with him yet. "Sit down!" he snapped. And it got the desired effect. Chase froze, slowly turning around and moving stiffly to the chair in front of House's desk. He was shooting daggers from his eyes as he dropped onto the edge of the seat.

"She was drunk," House said calmly. "Even from where I was watching, I could see the signs." He waited for a response, but all Chase did was stare at him, his expression inscrutable. "The silent treatment won't make me go away," House reminded him. He rose to his feet, grabbing his cane for support, and limped around to the front of the desk, directly in front of Chase. "You're young, intelligent enough and obscenely pretty." He got a flinch at his last words, which he took as a positive reaction. It was fun teasing Chase about his looks. Thankfully he wasn't vain, but the blonde Aussie was aware of the fact that his looks made his life easier, and he was prone to putting that fact to good use. "That said," House continued, "We both know you could get a date with pretty much anyone you want. Hell, eighty percent of the doctors, nurses, aides and even patients in this place lust after you. Including some of the male ones. So why would you date an alcoholic who's old enough to be your mother?" For a moment House thought he had Chase, that the young man was going to crack and spill everything. But he couldn't have been more wrong.

Rising to his feet, body trembling with ill concealed rage, Chase locked eyes with House and gained enough control to spit out in a disgustingly flat tone, "The moment my personal life becomes any of your damn business, I'll send you a memo." Then, with those words still echoing between them, Chase walked out.

House watched him go and sighed. Quite the conundrum was his little Chase.

OoO

Chase came home to an all too familiar sight. Vanessa, sprawled across the bed, bottle of vodka in one hand, cigarette in another. He wasn't sure what would kill her first. Lung cancer, the booze or maybe she would burn the house down and perish within it. At least she was still awake, given the fact the TV was on full blast and she was shouting at it.

Heaving a sigh, Chase moved to the bed and reached for the remote. He turned the TV off abruptly, which got Vanessa's attention.

"You're late!" she snapped, before taking another swig from the bottle.

"It's part of my job, you know that," Chase calmly replied. It was a conversation they had often. As he spoke, he leaned over and plucked the cigarette from her fingers, smashing it out in a nearby ashtray. Without warning fingers were fisting in his shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. Vanessa's tongue plunged into his mouth tasting of tobacco and stale vodka and Chase had to fight a gag reflex as he pulled away from her. But he plastered a smile on his face as he said softly, "Let me get you settled into bed. You need to sleep."

Vanessa glared at him before turning it into what he knew she thought was a seductive pout. "I need you to make love to me, beautiful," she purred, reaching for him again with the hand that wasn't clutched around the Vodka bottle.

Chase resisted the urge to sigh as he reached for the bottle. "We'll make love in the morning," he promised. Although he doubted she would be awake by the time he left. He had about six hours to get some sleep before he was due back to the hospital. Once Vanessa fell asleep, she'd be out for at least twelve hours. Or more, given how little was left of the vodka. As she tried to raise it to her mouth again, Chase tried to tug it away.

"NO!" Vanessa screeched at him, tugging her arm free. Then, without warning, she struck out at him, the blunt end of the bottle slamming hard into his temple.

Pain exploded in his head and Chase felt himself falling into blackness. Hitting the floor jolted pain throughout his entire body, keeping him from falling unconscious, but he felt dizzy and nauseous as he pressed one hand to his head. Something slick and warm smeared over his skin and he drew his hand away to find blood on it.

Vanessa was on her knees, peering over the edge of the bed at him. "Oh god! Oh God!" she moaned. "Robbie, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you," she moaned. Then she was on the floor next to him, shaky hands petting his face, making his head hurt worse.

"It's okay," Chase assured her, an echo of words whispered long ago. "I'm fine, it's okay." He managed to get to his feet and started to pull her up with him when she started retching. Chase was at least grateful she spewed on the floor and not the bed. Less clean up to do. He held her as she emptied her stomach, his nose wrinkling at the stench of bile and alcohol. When she was done he got her back into bed and fetched a damp washcloth and a cup of water. He cleaned her face then helped her take a sip of water to rinse her mouth. Drawing the covers over her he whispered, "Get some sleep, love."

"You're so good to me, Robbie," Vanessa whispered, her eyes already drawing closed.

He waited until he was sure she was asleep, then he went about cleaning up the mess on the floor. He could have called one of the servants to do it, since Vanessa had a houseful of them, but no sense in waking them given the hour. Besides which, he was experienced with this kind of mess and he had it taken care of swiftly. Then it was time for a long shower. He winced through washing his hair, then got out and dried off before wrapping a towel around his waist to take care of the cut on his temple. He was already bruising and it would be hard to hide, so he was grateful he'd let his hair grow a bit longer at Vanessa's request. Injury taken care of, Chase pulled on boxer-briefs, loose sweat pants and a t-shirt, then he settled into the overstuffed chair near the bed. He draped a blanket over himself and closed his eyes, but he knew he wouldn't sleep. Instead he listened to the antique clock on the wall tick away the minutes till morning.

It was a vigil he had kept time and time again. And it was almost comforting in its familiarity. Almost.

OoO

House watched Wilson drop into the chair from across his desk, before turning his attention back to the Rubik's cube in his hands. He'd been trying to make patterns in it for the past month with little success.

"You look bored," Wilson observed.

"Nothing interesting is going on," House stated.

Wilson smirked. "No ducklings to torture?" He made a show of staring at his watch. "Oh my!" he feigned shock. "It's early. Very early. Are pigs flying? Is the moon blue?"

House snorted. "I wanted to put them off kilter. Me being here first will make them all kinds of nervous. Especially since we don't have a case."

"You have a case," Wilson countered. "The kid with the unexplained rash."

"I figured it out already, but I am going to make my minions run myriads of tests until they figure it out on their own," House replied, making another move on the Rubik's cube. He then glared at it as his one perfectly patterned row became mismatched.

Wilson watched him for a moment before asking, "Any more Chase drama?"

Heaving a sigh of disgust, House tossed the cube onto his desk and settled his focus on Wilson. "Nothing," he allowed. "It's frustrating. General Hospital has been boring this past week and I need to be entertained."

"You mean you haven't prodded Chase about his personal life?" Wilson looked surprised.

"Not yet, I'm making him sweat about when I'm going to pounce." House felt disinclined to explain that he was too busy watching Chase to mess with him just yet. He had seen subtle signs of things that piqued his interest and he was simply biding his time. He hadn't handled things all that well when Rowan Chase had appeared, and he wasn't one to go about making the same mistake twice.

Wilson shook his head. "Why don't you leave the poor kid alone? You've tortured him enough this past year. He's paid for his sins ten times over."

House shrugged. "Can anyone ever really pay for their sins?"

"If anyone knew the answer to that question, you would," Wilson shot back, looking pleased with himself.

"Show time," House announced, as he took note of his ducklings entering the conference room. "Only two," he muttered to himself, because while Cameron and Foreman were heading for the coffee pot, Chase was conspicuously absent.

Wilson followed House's gaze, cocked one eyebrow, but chose to remain silent. He simply waved before exiting House's office.

House waggled his cane at Wilson, then made his way into the conference room. "Where's Chase?" he demanded.

"I'm here!" It was Chase, slipping in the door and panting heavy before he slipped into the closest chair.

"Oh my god!" Cameron exclaimed, as she got a good look at him. "What happened to you?"

Chase looked confused. "What do you mean?"

Cameron was by his side in an instant, one hand lifting to his temple. "You're hurt!" She smoothed his hair back and probed the small bandage that was revealed. Until Chase swatted her hand away.

"I'm fine!" He looked irritated and a bit scared.

House watched the exchange with interest, but refrained from commenting. Cameron could, and would, ask all the questions he wasn't ready to ask. Questions he knew Chase didn't want to hear. And right on cue, Cameron launched her arsenal.

"Did you get in a fight?" she queried.

"No!" Chase snapped, then he looked over to House and desperation glittered in his eyes.

House decided to take pity on him. But only because he knew it would surprise Chase for him to do so and that would put the young Aussie off guard for when House nailed him after the conference. A conference that was fairly short-lived as he fired symptoms at the ducklings and watched them squirm. Chase participated far more than House had expected him too, even coming up with the right diagnosis for the patient's unexplained rash, although House shot down his idea in front of everyone. He couldn't play nice now or Chase would get suspicion. Instead he sent Foreman and Cameron off to run various tests.

The moment they were gone, House moved to intercept Chase from leaving too. Not that his blond duckling was moving all that fast. House took note of the fact that Chase was unsteady on his feet as he rose from his chair, and that he was too pale and his eyes were somewhat glassy. "I didn't dismiss you," House reminded him.

"Sorry," Chase mumbled, not meeting House's gaze.

"She do that to you?" House asked, knowing that blunt was best with Chase. Well, blunt was always best period really.

Chase looked like he was fighting to keep his hand from raising to touch his temple. "I tripped," he ground out.

House snorted. "Right into a vodka bottle?" And he knew he scored a direct hit when Chase flinched and turned one shade paler. He watched, hitching ever closer, as the young doctor rose to his feet, trembling a bit as he suppressed what House assumed would be rage. It was good to know he hadn't lost his touch. He watched Chase take a step towards the door and list suddenly. House was by his side, grabbing his arm and pushing him back down into the chair.

"Leave me alone!" Chase snapped, then he looked horrified at his loss of control. House knew that control was very precious to his wombat.

"Let me take a look at you." House couched it as part question, part statement. That way Chase could pretend he had a choice.

But Chase didn't seem to be in the mood to play the game. He was on his feet and moving towards the door before House could react. Heaving a sigh of resignation, House watched him go.

OoO

Chase could feel Cameron watching him. After escaping from House, and it truly had felt like making an escape because the man was always looking too hard at things and seeing much more than Chase felt comfortable with, he had hooked up with Cameron to run some gels. The results were all negative. They would have to look for other causes for the patient's symptoms.

"You okay?" Cameron finally asked. She had been almost eerily quiet while they worked.

"I'm fine." Chase kept it short and to the point. He didn't want her fussing over him in that way she had that while it was meant to be nurturing, mostly it was irritating. He had gotten through life without mothering just fine so far.

Cameron, however, was not one to be deterred. "You're awfully pale, Chase. Why don't you let me take a look at you?"

That offer pushed him to his feet and over to the far corner, putting as much distance between them as he could. But the fast movement also left him a bit light-headed so he found himself leaning against the wall with as much nonchalance as he could muster. Which he doubted was overly impressive.

Apparently he was right because Cameron just followed him over to peer at him with concern reflected in her eyes. "Chase?"

"I'm fine, Cameron!" he hissed between gritted teeth. Nausea was coiling in his belly and he really didn't want to spew in front of her.

"You don't look fine!" she snapped back, irritation almost overriding her concern. Cameron liked to get her own way. But she must have realized how she sounded because her tone softened as she repeated her offer to look him over. "We can use one of the exam rooms down the hall," she stated, trying to make her case.

Chase had to resist the urge to shake his head, knowing it would only serve to make the pain in his temples spike. Instead he looked her in the eye and firmly repeated, "I'm fine."

Cameron seemed to take the hint, backing off physically and verbally. "How about grabbing something to eat then? I can run these results off to House and meet you in the cafeteria."

"You go ahead," Chase countered, grabbing the folder from her. "I'm not hungry. I can drop off the results." He watched her hesitate so he waved the file at her in a shooing motion. "Go on before I take back my offer." He forced a smile to show he was joking with her, and in the hopes that she'd take it as a sign that he really was all right and she could stop fussing.

"Okay, catch you in a bit," Cameron replied. She smiled back then headed for the door.

Once alone, Chase let himself sag fully against the wall. His head ached abominably causing him to fish in his pocket for the bottle of aspirin he'd stopped to buy at the drugstore on the way to work. He dry swallowed two of them, trying not to compare himself to House with his Vicodin. For a moment his stomach put up a fight and Chase was pretty sure he was going to spew the pills back onto the floor, but then everything settled and he heaved a sigh of relief. 

Pushing himself off the wall, Chase made for the door. He would drop off the file then offer to do House's clinic hours until he was needed to do something for their patient. Foreman was primary on it anyway, so Chase felt certain he would be able to hide from House in the clinic for most of the day.

Amazingly, House was agreeable to Chase doing clinic hours for him. He accepted the folder with the test results then waved Chase out the door. He went, gladly, though he was a bit surprised. House usually never made it this easy for him to escape and hide. Not that he was going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Not at all.

Working the clinic felt like a relief. His head was still aching and he felt a bit nauseous, but it was just busy enough and the people he had to deal with were just nondescript enough that Chase could work by rote and still know he was getting the job done right. He worked steadily till noon when one of the nurses, Barbara, hauled him off to take a break in the lounge. She settled him at the table with a sandwich and a soda and Chase made a show of eating, taking a small bite and chewing slowly. She watched him for a bit before smiling with approval and heading out the door. The moment she was gone, Chase wrapped the sandwich up and tossed it in the trash, covering it by crumpling up an old newspaper and dropping it on top so no one would see it. Barbara was a nice lady and, normally, Chase would appreciate the way she tended to fuss over him, but today he just wanted to be alone. He did, however, finish off the soda. He needed the caffeine rush it offered and it made swallowing his third dose of aspirin a bit easier. He knew he was popping them too soon, but his head was killing him.

He was just about to head out and grab the folder for the next patient when his pager went off. Their patient was coding. Ignoring the pain in his head, Chase took off at a run.

OoO

The patient was still clinging to life when Chase went home. It had been a close call but, in the end, House had figured out what was wrong because of something Chase had said in passing. He didn't even remember what it was, nor did he really care. He just wanted to curl up in bed and sleep.

Thankfully, Vanessa was out when he got there. Chase fuzzily remembered that tonight was the night she met with a group of girlfriends to shop and chat and have dinner and such. She usually got home in the early morning hours. Which was fine by Chase. He was able to take a long shower, pull on briefs, pop a couple more aspirin then crawl into bed. He turned the TV on for background noise, closed his eyes and effortlessly drifted into an exhausted slumber.

He jolted back to awareness when he realized he was getting hard. Not so surprising given the fact that Vanessa was sucking him off. She liked to do that before riding him. What was surprising was the fact that he couldn't touch her. Chase tried to do so but his arms wouldn't move. He tilted his head back, wincing as pain throbbed in his temples, and saw that his wrists were tied to the headboard, with a pair of silk ties. Ties that Vanessa had given him.

She must have sensed he was awake because her mouth left him and she was suddenly over him, her eyes blazing with lust and anger. Chase looked hard and saw that her eyes were glazed as well. She was drunk again. He wasn't surprised. But when she kissed him hard, nipping at his lower lip, he yelped.

"You've been a bad boy, haven't you, Robbie?" Vanessa snarled, her fingers digging into his hair and holding tight when he tried to avoid another kiss. "But you're such a beautiful boy that I'm willing to forgive you." As she spoke she backed up over him, gripping his hardness until she could push down onto him. 

"Vanessa..." Chase couldn't help but moan as he was enveloped by her wet heat. She knew how to make him feel good. Sex and business were the two things Vanessa excelled at. He had slept with her the first night they met and he had never looked back. Because she had told him she wanted companionship, not complications. Even as she moved over him, drawing an almost painful release out of him, Chase wondered what had happened to change things. Because everything in his life was more complicated than ever, yet he couldn't walk away from her.

She seemed to think otherwise. "I won't let you leave me, Robbie!" Vanessa hissed, as she collapsed over him. She was limp from her own release but she found the strength to cup his face between rigid fingers. "I won't let you go. You belong to me!" She was angry and crying at the same time.

Chase knew it was the alcohol talking. His mother had begged him like this. Night after night she had begged him to love her in spite of her sins. Tugging at his bindings and hoping she would get the hint to release him, Chase held Vanessa's gaze as he replied, "I'm not going anywhere. Promise."

"I can't lose you," Vanessa whispered, raining soft and sloppy kisses over his face. "You're my life, Robbie. You're the best thing that ever happened to me.

"You won't lose me," he promised. But it was hard not to laugh at her. Her life was truly fucked up if he was the best thing that had ever happened to her. "Untie me, luv," he requested.

Vanessa shook her head. "No...no," she whispered into his neck, then she was biting him and making her way down his body, her hands mapping over his skin. Then she was curling up beside him, drawing a blanket over them. "I want to sleep knowing you can't leave me," she breathed into his ear.

Chase considered arguing with her, but he didn't have the desire to fight with her. She didn't take arguments well and it was easier to just let her sleep. But it was a long time before he joined her in slumber.

OoO

He felt Vanessa watching him as he knotted his tie in the mirror. Even after a long, hot, shower he felt stiff and sore from being tied up for so long. His shoulders ached right along with his head, but Chase had popped a few aspirin along with a glass of orange juice, and he was waiting for them to kick in. The moment he turned to face Vanessa he knew it was going to be a bad morning.

She glared at him before snarling, "I want you to come with me!"

"You know I can't," Chase countered, keeping his tone soft and low. She was leaving this morning for Milan on business and would be gone for two weeks. She had asked him, several times, to go with her, and he kept telling her he couldn't. Vanessa was not good at taking no for an answer.

"You just can't wait for me to be gone so you can sleep around on me!" Vanessa shrilled. And when Chase opened his mouth to assure her that wasn't the case, she slapped him.

He pressed a hand to his cheek and just stared at her. It wasn't the first time a woman had slapped him. Chase could still feel the imprint of his mother's hand, and hear her horrified words of apology.

Vanessa moved to him, shaking her head, tears shimmering in her eyes. "Oh god, Robbie! I'm so sorry! Forgive me?" She was begging now, with her eyes as much as with her words.

"Of course I forgive you," he whispered. He let his hand drop from his cheek to hers, pulling her in for a soft kiss. "I'm sorry I can't go with you," he told her. "I wish I could." There was both truth and lies in what he said and he knew she'd never figure out which was which. He wasn't all that sure he could anymore.

"I love you so much, Robbie...it hurts," Vanessa said, sobbing into his shoulder.

Chase held her tight, knowing better than anyone just how much love hurt.

OoO

It took House three days before confronting Chase about the fact that he wasn't rushing home from work anymore.

"Old lady dump you?" he asked, as he strode into the conference room and headed for the coffee pot. It was almost midnight and he really should be going home himself, but he had wanted to look a few things up on the internet before heading out.

"Not that it's any of your business, but she's out of town for two weeks," Chase replied, not glancing up from his crossword.

House was surprised to hear that. Or maybe not. Chase had been more focused the past few days. But he was still curious. "So why are you still here? You could go out or go home and watch movies. In case you didn't get the memo, we don't have a patient at the moment."

Chase did glance up, eyes peering out from a fringe of blond bangs. "I was covering a half shift in NICU and one of the babies coded. I'm just sticking around until I'm sure I'm not needed."

"Noble of you," House allowed. He took a sip of the coffee then spat it back into the cup. Tasted like tar. 

"It's hours old," Chase commented, having caught House's actions. "Plus Cameron made it."

House grimaced. Cameron was a very skilled doctor, but she sucked at making coffee. He weighed whether or not it was worth making a fresh pot and decided against it. There were bottles of soda in the mini fridge and a mountain dew would give him a faster caffeine rush anyway. "So why were you here late the past two nights?" House queried, as he limped over to the table and sat down. He figured he'd get a bit of entertainment watching Chase figure out some plausible fib to offer him.

Chase shifted in his chair, pushing the crossword away from him. "I had things to catch up on," he replied, before standing up and fetching himself a soda.

"You'll never get to sleep if you drink that," House pointed out. Because what was sauce for the goose wasn't always sauce for the little ducklings.

"Sleep is overrated," Chase replied as he opened the tab then took a long swig. He looked about to make another smart comment when his pager went off. After reading it, Chase set the can on the table and ran out the door.

House sighed before leaning over and reaching for the can. No reason to let it go to waste. As he sat there, contemplating Chase, House finished both cans of soda, then he popped a Vicodin. It was going to be an interesting two weeks.

**THE END...of part one**


	2. Chapter 2

**REWIND...part 2**

House was watching Chase, he was just being careful not to be caught doing so. Which was turning out to be an easy thing to do since his Aussie duckling was distracted. Not while doing his job though, just the moments in between. The moments when he would have been wise to pay the most attention.

It was a week since the girlfriend had gone off on her business trip. Since then Chase had taken to working extra shifts, as if he were avoiding going home. He was very focused while conferencing, offering up creative and effective suggestions for their newest case, but when he wasn't focused he looked detached and tired. He wasn't even any fun harassing at the moment, which was bumming House out even as it intrigued him.

Being that it was Friday night and their patient was doing well on treatment, House excused everyone for once. He watched as Cameron and Foreman invited Chase out to drinks and, not so surprisingly, Chase excused himself saying he had other plans. House would have happily bet money on there being no plans.

Another interesting thing was the fact that Chase was on the phone a lot. Always private conversations that were brief and terse, but numbering at least half a dozen a day. No doubt the girlfriend was keeping track of her little blond boy toy. Chase always looked unhappy when he hung up, at least until he realized House was watching him, then he schooled his features into a neutral expression.

House waited for the others to leave, then he surged forward, catching Chase before he could walk out the door. "So why aren't you going out to have fun with your playmates?" he asked.

"I've other things to do," Chase countered, gathering his things and not looking in House's direction.

"Like what?" House prompted, following Chase around the room. He made sure he crowded him a bit, just to irritate him.

Given the expression on Chase's face as he turned to glare at House, it was working. "My personal life is none of your business!" Chase snapped. "I'm pretty sure I did send you the memo on that!"

House grinned and shrugged. "You know I don't read those things. So, seriously, what are you doing tonight? Girlfriend back?"

"Unless you need me to do some work for you, I'm out of here," Chase replied, his voice carefully devoid of any emotion.

"Can't think of anything," House allowed, still following his duckling to the door. "But you'll be the first to know." He stopped as Chase pushed through and walked away, then he headed for the phone to call the front desk. He had a feeling Chase wasn't really going home. He left instructions, hung up, then waited. Five minutes later he got confirmation. Chase didn't sign out. House grinned as he made another call. Yep. Chase was in NICU doing a rotation. Sneaky little duckling. They would talk about that tomorrow. Because he knew Chase would be in bright and early.

Deciding to give Chase a break for the time being, House headed to Wilson's office. He let himself in without knocking and dropped down into the nearest chair.

Wilson didn't look up from the book he was glancing through as he drawled, "Can I help you?"

"Chase won't go out and play nice with the others," House said, because he knew it would pique Wilson's curiosity and irritate him at the same time. He had to get his fun somehow.

"Translation," Wilson requested, still not looking up.

House sighed, he would have to change strategies with Wilson. He was catching on to him now. "I let my minions leave early and Cameron and Foreman invited Chase to go out for drinks with them. Chase refused."

Wilson did glance up now, looking exasperated. "Perhaps he had other plans?"

"So he said," House allowed. "Only I spied on him and he signed out of diagnostics and in to NICU for a third shift rotation."

"Why would he do that?" Wilson gave up all pretense of trying to ignore House and shoved his book aside.

House arched an eyebrow. He had Wilson now. Shrugging, he replied, "That would appear to be the 64 thousand dollar question."

Wilson sighed, leaning back in his chair and eyeing House. "Why don't you do all of us a big favor and butt out of Chase's life?"

"You're funny," House shot back. They both knew he liked knowing everything about everything and everyone. Well, in so much as it pertained to his own life. And Chase being messed up because of a girlfriend pertained to House's life as he saw it. And Chase was messed up enough to begin with. He was the puzzle House was finding the most difficult to solve.

"Is Chase doing his job?" Wilson prompted.

A snort erupted from House at that. "That's always been debatable."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "We both know that if Chase wasn't a good doctor, you'd have fired him long ago. So what's the real reason why you won't let this drop? If his private life isn't affecting his work, you should leave him alone."

"But he's so much fun to taunt and tease," House protested.

"You just hate the fact that he won't fight back," Wilson stated, a small smile curving his lips. "And you really hate the fact that you know exactly how to push Foreman and Cameron's buttons to get them to respond the way you want, but Chase just won't play your game."

House widened his eyes, pretending to be awed. "Wow, you're psychobabble is impressive. You should consider giving up Oncology and putting up a shrink sign."

Wilson took on a pained expression. "Silly me, I forgot that you didn't actually come in here to ask for my thoughts or advice. You're just bored and you ran out of people to bother."

"Well yeah, what with Chase hiding out in NICU and all," House drawled, then he pushed out of the chair and limped to the door. "Goodnight," he said, rather cheerily, knowing that it would leave Wilson wondering what he was going to do next. Always keep them guessing.

OoO

Chase was tired. He had intended to work a half shift in NICU to cover for another doctor, but there had been a couple of codes and one doctor called in so he had stayed. Which meant dozing a bit without meaning too in the lounge, then taking a shower and changing into a fresh set of clothes before reporting to the conference room. Not surprisingly, he was the first one in. So he tried to focus on his crossword puzzle, but the words were becoming blurred at the edges. He was rescued from it by Cameron and Foreman's arrival. He could feel their eyes on him as they strolled past him.

Foreman spoke first. "You all right, man? You look like crap."

"I'm fine," Chase replied, trying to keep the irritation he felt out of his voice.

"All nighter?" Cameron guessed, sympathy shining from her eyes.

Chase decided it would be in his best interest to be honest. "Yeah, they needed help in NICU."

She patted his shoulder. "Maybe House will let you go early. It's not like we have a case at the moment."

"Nah, I'm good," Chase replied, then he blinked in surprise when she set a bagel down in front of him.

"I got them on the way here," Cameron explained. Then she set a huge Styrofoam cup of coffee down in front of him. "It's mine so it has sugar, but you look like you can use it," she stated.

Chase was surprised by the gesture, even though he rather appreciated it, but he still shook his head and pushed it back in her direction. "S'kay," he said. "Thanks, but I'll just make a pot." Everyone knew enough not to let Cameron make the coffee.

But Cameron pressed a hand to his shoulder, keeping Chase sitting. "Just drink it," she ordered. "It won't kill you."

"It might!" Chase shot back, grinning at her to show he was only teasing. But she just mock glared at him, pushing the coffee into his hand. Chase took a tiny sip, fighting the urge to grimace. He had a throbbing headache that made his stomach feel twisted into knots and he wasn't too sure how it would react to the coffee. Especially given how liberally sugared it was. Sugar with lots and lots of cream. His stomach protested. Besides which, he really had enough caffeine jolting through his system. After his shower Chase had downed two cans of espresso shots. Triple espresso strong packed into a small can. It was how he had been getting through this week. Only it didn't mix well with the sugar and cream.

Just then House limped into the room.

Foreman didn't seem to notice as he sat down and advised Chase, "And eat your bagel. Get some meat on that skinny white ass of yours."

"Are you staring at Chase's ass again, Foreman?" House taunted, a huge grin on his face as he moved to the other end of the table and reached out to claim a bagel for himself. He watched Foreman roll his eyes then House waved his own bagel at Chase. "You should do as he says though and eat. You are looking a bit peaked. Long night of rough sex?"

"Yeah," Chase drawled, not missing a beat. He had long ago learned how not to react to House's ribbing.

House shrugged, took a bite of his bagel, then tossed it on a napkin as he headed to the white board. He started to explain about an old case he wanted them to practice with and jotted down the symptoms.

Chase tried to pay attention, even as he tried to ignore Cameron who kept poking him in the side and gesturing him to eat. He choked down a bit of bagel only to have his stomach scream in protest. Clapping a hand over his mouth, Chase bolted out of his chair and out of the room. He raced down the corridor to the nearest bathroom and barely made it into the stall in time to empty his stomach with convulsive retching.

He didn't hear the door open and someone enter. He didn't know they were there until Foreman spoke.

"You okay?"

"Peachy," Chase managed to choke out, before another round of retching. He wasn't bringing up anything but a bit of bile. His throat burned, his head ached and he felt twitchy. More than anything he really wanted to be alone right now. "Haven't you ever seen anyone throw up before?" he groused at Foreman.

Foreman chuckled, but there was no amusement to it. "Not quite this spectacularly," he replied.

Chase ripped off some toilet paper and used it to wipe his mouth. He grabbed more and wiped his face. He could feel the sweat that sheened his skin. It left him feeling cold. Carefully he turned his head, the movement causing pain to spike in his temples. He was surprised to see that Foreman was right in the doorway of the stall, crouched down and watching him intently. "I'm fine," Chase stated firmly, closing his eyes and willing the roiling in his stomach to ease. "Blame the coffee. Cameron probably made it."

Before Foreman could respond, Cameron entered the room.

It took Chase a moment to realize who it was that pressed a hand to his forehead. Cameron looked a bit fuzzy when he opened his eyes. "You do know this is the men's room," he informed her. At least he thought it was. Truthfully he had bolted into the first place that held a toilet. Chase looked at the stall carefully and was relieved when he recognized the blue tile. He knew the ladies room was pink.

"Nothing I haven't seen before," Cameron shot back. Her fingers smoothed his bangs off his forehead. "Can I get you anything?"

"Privacy!" Chase snapped.

Foreman had other ideas. "Cameron, why don't you see if you can find some Gatorade. All that puking is going to leave him dehydrated."

Chase was getting irritated with them both now. "HE is still here!" he snarled. "And I'd really like the both of you to leave me to hurl in peace!" As he spoke he rose, shakily, to his feet. Everything suddenly titled and Chase felt himself falling. Vaguely he was aware of Cameron calling his name and arms catching him. Then everything faded to black.

House was pacing outside the conference room when Cameron came running by. He stopped her with his cane. "Chase?" he prompted.

Cameron was almost dancing with agitation. "He just collapsed. I'm going to get a gurney. Foreman is still with him!"

"Go!' House ordered, even as he headed for the bathroom. He stood in the doorway, watching Foreman working over Chase, using wet paper towels on his face and neck. Checking his pulse then calling his name. He knew Chase was in good hands so he limped off to the nearest elevator. House knew his duckling well. Chase wasn't going to tell them what he needed to know, so House was going to find it on his own. First place to look, Chase's locker.

It was two hours later when Chase woke up.

House was in the clinic when he got the page. He excused himself and told the head nurse to send for another doctor. He then made his way to Chase's room. It was a little corner room on the same floor as House's office. A room seldom used but House had informed Cuddy he needed it for a while. When she realized it was for Chase she had agreed, which had actually surprised House a bit. He filed away that bit of curious information. Perhaps Cuddy knew something about Chase that House didn't, and no way in hell was he going to let that slide by.

As he neared the room he could hear voices. Chase was almost yelling, which was something he didn't hear often. Speeding up a bit, House reached the doorway and he saw that Chase was yelling at Cameron.

"I'm not staying here!" he snarled at her.

"Yes, you are!" she shot back, adding, "Leave that alone!"

House stepped in the room and saw that she was talking about the IV needle taped to the back of Chase's left hand. He was trying to peel it off. "Everyone out!" House announced, making his presence known. He watched Foreman nod and leave without question.

Cameron hesitated and House knew she was wondering if she should leave Chase alone with him. But her devotion to House won out over her concern for Chase. Although she shot Chase a look of apology before slipping out the door. House then closed it before moving to the bed.

"You look less green," he drawled.

"Why am I here?" Chase demanded, but he didn't give House a chance to reply before he pointed to the IV line. "And what the hell is this for?"

House grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and pulled it over to the bed. He sat down heavily, his cane between his legs, hands folded over the top. "That's to keep you hydrated and I'm pumping you full of vitamins too. Is it yummy?"

Chase scowled and started picking at the tape again until House rapped him on his forearm with his cane. Chase yelped then glared at him.

"Leave it alone," House ordered, and his tone left no room for argument. He watched Chase's right hand drift away, settling on the blanket where his fingers picked at the edges. "Question time," he said, cheerily, seeing Chase stiffen. "When was the last time you ate?"

"You were there," Chase shot back.

House was confused by that one. He frowned, trying to puzzle out what Chase meant.

Chase huffed a sigh and said, "The conference room. Cameron brought bagels."

"Riiight," House drawled. "Okay, let me define what I meant by eating. You had an actual meal, not a tiny bite of bagel."

"Supper," Chase replied, without hesitation.

House watched his free hand move to his temple and rub it hard. Pushing to his feet he pulled a penlight out of his pocket. He leaned against the side railing of the bed, gripped Chase's chin in one hand and shone the light in his right eye. His grip tightened as Chase resisted. House pulled back and sat down again. "How long have you had that headache?"

Eyes closed, head pressed back into the pillow, Chase didn't reply.

"You're dehydrated, malnourished, exhausted and anemic," House listed. "I'm going to assume your headache is symptomatic of all the above and treat it accordingly."

"Great," Chase replied, his eyes still closed. "Can I go now?"

House snorted. "Sorry. You'll be our guest for a few days. Friendly warning, the food sucks. But you're going to eat it anyway."

Chase's eyes flew open. "I'm not staying here!"

"Since I'm not releasing you, yes, you are." House pushed to his feet again, moving to the corner of the room and pulling a tray over to the bedside. A tray with something lumpy on it covered by a cloth.

"You're not my doctor!" Chase snapped, then he winced and pressed his fingertips to his temples.

House felt a bit of sympathy, but didn't let it show. "Actually, I'm your boss and your doctor. You do know you have me listed on your forms, right? The ones you filled out when you first came here."

Chase looked stricken, but he quickly schooled his expression into a neutral mask and said, "Whatever. But we both know I don't need to stay here. I'll go home, drink and sleep and eat and come back tomorrow."

"You're staying," House repeated, and he let Chase know by his tone that it was final. He then pulled the cloth off the tray to reveal two cans. He watched Chase's eyes go wide as he stared at them in recognition. House nodded. "Got them from your locker. I realize you're not a nutritionist and all, but let me inform you that you can't actually survive on Jolt and Espresso shots. I countered thirty seven empty cans. Who's your supplier?"

"If I do what you want how soon can I leave?" Chase countered.

House shrugged. "I'll get back to you on that one." He locked eyes with Chase, or attempted too. The Aussie wouldn't look directly at him. "You have an addictive personality, which is a bad thing. You know that, right?"

Chase's response was to turn on his side, his back to House. "I'm tired," whispered.

"We'll talk later." House let it be known he wasn't going to drop this. But for now he would retreat. He closed the door behind him as he left the room and found Cameron hovering. He told her to give Chase something for pain and to help him sleep, leaving it to her discretion to pick what would be best. He then told her to wait until Chase was asleep before heading back to the conference room. House headed there himself, getting waylaid by Cuddy who gave him an actual case to work on.

"How's Chase doing?" she queried.

House shrugged. "He's doing."

Cuddy looked irritated, but she smoothed it away and said, "Take good care of him."

"I take good care of all my patients," House shot back.

"You could lose him," Cuddy warned.

House blinked at that. He really would have to find out what the deal was. What it was Cuddy was hiding from him about Chase. But all he said was, "You know I hate interviews." Then he headed off, file clutched in his hand. It was time to get back to work.

OoO

Chase convinced Cameron not to give him anything. Convinced her the pain was better and he was tired enough to sleep on his own. He then quieted his breathing and managed to fake being asleep. He waited a few minutes after Cameron was gone then paged the nurse. He charmed her into getting his clothes for him. He removed his IV, got dressed then signed himself out.

When he got home he was surprised to find Vanessa there. She was lounging on the bed, a glass of what had to be vodka in one hand. She looked just as surprised to see him.

"What are you doing back already?" Chase asked, then he winced at how cold that sounded. 

"I got back early to surprise you," Vanessa replied. She drank down what was left in the glass then crawled off the bed and moved to him. She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him into a kiss.

Chase almost gagged from the bite of vodka, but then it numbed his tongue and he kissed her back willingly. Wanting the contact. Wanting the heat of her body against his. He let her pull him onto the bed. Let her undress him. Let her do anything she wanted. And when she held the bottle of Vodka to his lips. Chase drank.

He was tired of feeling the pain.

**THE END...of part 2**


	3. Chapter 3

REWIND...part 3

It had been a few hours since House had checked on Chase. Given the fact that Cuddy was being obstinate about him doing Clinic duty, he'd been forced to muddle through about two dozen patients, then he'd gone to the cafeteria to eat and relax for a few minutes while contemplating his next move with Chase. He still wasn't sure what he wanted to do when he stepped into the elevator to take him to diagnostics. He was leaning against the wall, considering, when Wilson stepped inside.

"How's Chase doing?" Wilson asked. "I'll ask him when I see him and get back to you," House replied.

Wilson chuckled. "Been on clinic duty?"

House had to admit, it was a good guess. "Going home?" he countered, which was a good guess as well, given the fact that Wilson had his overcoat on.

"That was the plan," Wilson allowed, looking decidedly chipper.

"Hot date?" House was suspicious of the happy glint in Wilson's eyes.

Heaving a sigh, Wilson replied, "That would be none of your business. House simply nodded. He'd find out one way or another if Wilson did have a date. He changed the subject. "You do realize we're going up not down, right?" He tapped to the numbers lighting up over the door with the end of his cane.

"Yeah, I got that," Wilson drawled. "I just figured I'd check in on Chase before I headed out."

"Since when are you and Chase buddies?" House countered, wondering if he was missing something. Lately everyone seemed to have little secrets he wasn't aware of. Like Cuddy being almost protective of Chase. That was something he intended to talk to her about before leaving tonight.

Wilson opened his mouth to reply but the elevator door slid open and he stepped out neatly instead. He didn't wait for House, just started walking down the corridor. House grunted then moved to follow. Even with his limp his longer legs ate up ground so he caught up to Wilson easily. They didn't talk as they headed for the corner room. House stepped ahead, pushed the door open then swore as he stared at the empty bed with the covers pushed back and the IV line trailing over the mattress. "SONOFABITCH!"

"I'll get the nurse," Wilson offered, after poking his head in. He headed off in a hurry.

"Stupid little idiot!" House vented as he paced. He had never met anyone who made as many bad choices as Chase. Bad choices about everything. He heard footsteps and voices approaching and he limped out of the room to confront the head nurse. "Where the hell is Dr. Chase?" he snarled at her.

She jumped then looked affronted. "He signed himself out."

House swallowed a nasty reply, asking instead, "How long ago?" "Maybe three hours." "Idiots!" House pushed past her, heading back for the elevator. He heard Wilson thanking the nurse then footsteps running to catch up but he was already inside and heading back down, not wanting to talk right now. At least not to Wilson. House made his way to Cuddy's office, bursting in without knocking. "I need Chase's address!" he snapped at her.

Cuddy was on the phone. She glared at him, spoke quietly into the receiver, hung up then said, "No." House thumped his cane on the floor. "He signed himself out. Did you know that?"

"What?" Cuddy looked startled and rose from her chair to move around her desk and confront House. "He left? When?" "A few hours ago." House glared at her. "Stop hiring stupid nurses!"

Anger flared in Cuddy's eyes and she, visibly, fought for composure. "I'll talk to the nurse." As she spoke she reached for a note pad and a pen. She scribbled something then held it out. "Here's the address."

House snatched it from her, saying nothing as he headed out. When he reached the lobby of the main floor, he found Wilson waiting for him, with his coat in hand.

"I'll drive," Wilson offered.

"What about your hot date?" House shot back, even as he shrugged into his coat. He was glad Wilson was coming. He was too angry to drive right now. When he got a hold of Chase he was going to wring the idiot's scrawny neck.

Wilson rolled his eyes, moving to open the door for House. "No back seat driving," he warned, "or I'll push you out on your ass."

House almost laughed at that. He liked it when Wilson threw his acerbic snark back at him. It was fun to play with someone. But his amusement faded as they got into the car and left the parking lot. Chase was in a lot of trouble. They reached the manor house where Chase was now living in record time. Wilson could be a lead foot when he wanted to be, a trait that House found admirable. "Wait here," he told him, as he got out of the car. "I won't be long."

"Yes, dad," Wilson drawled, waving House on. It felt like a long walk to the door, but House persevered. Once there he banged on it with his cane handle, eschewing the button for the bell. He expected a butler to open the door but it was a young woman who answered. House pushed past her, stepping into the ornate foyer. "Where's Dr. Chase?"

The young woman looked worried, staying near the open doorway. "I'll let him know you're here," she said. "Mister...?"

"House. And it's doctor, and tell him to get his ass down here now!" House snapped. He watched her close the door then head for the stairs only to stop in her tracks. The reason being that Vanessa, wrapped in a dressing gown, was on her way down. House moved to meet her at the bottom step. "I'm taking Chase back to the hospital," he said.

"He's sleeping," Vanessa countered, her eyes blazing with anger. "Who the hell do you think you are to come barging into my home like this?"

House resisted the urge to choke her. "I'm Chase's boss and his doctor and he belongs in the hospital right now. He collapsed, did you know that?" He knew she didn't by the way her eyes widened. Eyes that were glazed. She was drunk but she held her liquour surprisingly well, although he could smell vodka and sex on her. Chase was an idiot. Pushing past her, House started up the stairs. Damn place was huge, it should have had an elevator handy.

Vanessa rushed to catch up to him. "Leave Chase alone!" she snapped. "He belongs here, with me!"

"He's sick!" House wasn't going to play games. Ignoring the burning pain in his thigh, he made the top of the stairs and turned left. There were double doors at the end of the hallway and he was guessing that they led to the master bedroom. He felt Vanessa's fingers grip his arm and he shrugged her off, lengthening his stride as best he could. Then he was bursting through the doors in a dramatic entrance that would have made Sonny Corinthos proud.

House kept going till he reached the bed, glaring down at the still form within. Reaching out, House gripped Chase's bare shoulder and shook him. "Dr. Chase...GET UP!" he shouted. But even as he was shaking him, House could feel that Chase was chilled. He was covered to the waist with blankets and the room itself was warm, but Chase's smooth, pale, skin was cool to the touch.

Vanessa was suddenly beside House, trying to push him away. "Leave him alone!" she raged. "He's sleeping!"

"You'd better hope so," House shot back, grimly. Then he focused solely on Chase, reaching out to take his pulse. Slightly erratic. He leaned over, listening for breath sounds. They were slow. House felt a flutter of panic as he cupped Chase's face between his hands then shouted at him, "WAKE UP NOW!" Nothing. He slapped his cheeks lightly. Still no response. House had his suspicions. Eyes darting around, they fell upon the empty vodka bottle resting on the bedside table. Pointing to it, House focused on Vanessa. "How much of that did Chase have to drink?" He hoped she would tell him nothing.

"I dunno," Vanessa slurred. "Maybe half."

House closed his eyes, muttering curses beneath his breath. Then he glared at Vanessa. "Call 911. Now!" When she simply stared at him he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. "Call now! Chase has alcohol poisoning and he could die! Comprende?"

Vanessa made a choking sound and her face crumpled, then she was breaking free of House and rushing over to the other side of the room. He watched her pick up a cell phone and dial.

"Come on, Chase," House whispered, eyes once again locked on the Aussie's pale face. His skin was tinged blue. The stupid sonofabitch! Anger flared in House and he grabbed the empty vodka bottle, hurling it across the room, watching it shatter against the wall.

"They're coming," Vanessa announced, unfazed by the crash. She was back by the bed, reaching for Chase's hand. "It's okay, beautiful," she whispered. "You're going to be fine." She smoothed golden hair off Chase's forehead then looked up at House. "He's going to be fine, isn't he?"

House resisted the urge to slap her. "You'd better hope so," he snarled. "Because if he dies it's your fault!" That said, he focused all his attention on Chase, willing the young doctor to keep breathing until the ambulance arrived. He didn't even notice when Wilson appeared by his side to help him keep vigil.

OoO

Chase came to awareness slowly. He felt heavy and achy and his mind felt thick and his thoughts mangled. Smell was the first sense to hit him, the sharp sting of disinfectant in his nostrils. He peeled his eyes open and familiar white walls appeared. Hospital. He was in the hospital again.

"Chase?"

He recognized Cameron's voice and turned his head toward the sound. Pain flared in his skull and he swallowed a whimper. The swallow turned into choking because his throat was so dry. Choking turned to coughing and his stomach twisted into knots and he fought against the roil of nausea that forced towards his mouth.

"Take a sip," Cameron instructed.

Chase felt a hand cup the back of his neck then something press against his lips. He realized it was a straw and he managed a small swallow. It helped soothe his throat and ease the cough. After a moment he relaxed back against the pillows and blinked hard to bring Cameron's face into full focus. "Wh-what happened?"

Cameron winced, turning away to set the cup of water down before facing him again. "You got sick. Alcohol poisoning. If House hadn't gone after you, you would have died."

He heard the accusation in her tone but didn't respond to it. "Where's Vanessa?" "What were you thinking?" Cameron countered, anger warring with compassion in her eyes. "Were you trying to kill yourself?"

"Why do you drink?" Chase shot back, feeling way too worn out to deal with Cameron's outrage. What did she care what he did anyway? They were colleagues and one time fuck buddies. Nothing more. Didn't matter that he'd had feelings for her once. Cameron liked House and seemed unable, or maybe unwilling, to push past those feelings.

Cameron looked exasperated. "I have a drink or two to relax," she replied.

Chase considered her words for a moment then asked, "Why did you take the meth?" He knew he had her on that one. She didn't want to face why and she sure as hell wasn't going to talk to him about it. Which suited Chase just fine. All he wanted right now was to be left alone. But he did have one question. "How long have I been here?"

"Two days," Cameron said, her tone going soft again. "You were in and out of it. Mostly out."

"Where's Vanessa?" Chase asked again. He vaguely remembered having sex with her then pretty much passing out. He needed to know that she was okay. No doubt he'd scared her to death getting sick. Vanessa didn't deal well with sickness. Not even her own. It was House who replied to his question, from his position in the doorway.

"I banned her," he stated.

Chase wasn't as surprised to hear that as he should have been. "I want to see her!" he shot back.

"Not an option," House drawled, as he limped into the room. He waved a hand at Cameron and she scurried out, closing the door behind her. Moving to the bed, House studied Chase. "So, do you feel as crappy as you look?" he asked, cheerfully. Although his eyes weren't gleaming, they were grim and narrowed.

"I want to see Vanessa," Chase stated. He tried shifting a bit to get more comfortable, but the movement only caused him pain. He shifted, one hand lifting to his face, fingertips pressing hard into his forehead. He felt the tug of the IV line on the back of his hand but its sting was insignificant in comparison to his other ills.

House dragged a chair over to the bed, making the chair legs squeal. He then sat down heavily, his eyes focused sharply on Chase. "She's like poison to you," he replied. "I'm not going to give you poison. In fact, I'm the nice man who's going to take the poison away so you can get all better."

Chase lowered his hand, trying to ignore the fact that he was trembling. His eyes felt gritty and unfocused, but he widened them and pinned House with as close to a glare as he could muster. "I'm not a child," he said softly. "You can't make decisions for me. You can't control my personal life."

"I'd do a hell of a better job of it than you have been," House shot back, and his words were meant to sting. "You 're a mess, Chase."

"Not your problem." Chase didn't want to do this with House. Not now, not ever.

House thumped his cane on the floor and his voice was tight with suppressed anger as he spoke. "You work for me, you become my problem. More trouble than you're worth for the most part, but still my problem. Which I'm going to fix. Vanessa isn't allowed in this hospital. End of story."

Chase wasn't about to argue with House. "Fine. Then I'll leave." Not that he was going to do that right now. He knew he wouldn't be able to crawl out of the bed, much less make the attempt to stand. But tomorrow he would be stronger. Tomorrow he would leave.

"You have two options," House stated. "Leave Vanessa or leave your job?"

"You can't do that!" Chase knew he sounded pathetically weak in his protest, but he didn't have the energy to be sharper. "You can't make me choose one over the other!"

House looked unimpressed. "Why not?"

Chase didn't want to make a confession, but House was leaving him no choice. "I love Vanessa."

"More than your job?" House badgered.

"I risked everything to keep my job," Chase reminded him. And that had been one of the most painful moments of his life. Choosing Vogler over House, but only to keep his job, so that he could stay with House. His life was one fucked up conundrum after another. House shifted a bit closer, something cold and mocking glittering in his blue eyes.

"Then it should be an easy choice. You can find another old lady to bang, but you can't get another job with me."

Chase almost laughed at that, and might have if his stomach hadn't been twisted into knots. He swallowed hard, pushing back the nausea that was inching up his throat and whispered, "You think this is about you? You couldn't be more wrong. You think you know me, but you don't. You don't know anything about me."

"I know you've moved past your daddy issues and are now trying to fuck yourself up with mommy issues," House calmly replied. "And just to wrap things up for you, you can't save Vanessa anymore than you could save your mother. So all you're doing is watching someone else die and racking up more guilt points. Waste of time."

"I love Vanessa," Chase repeated, because it was easier to do that then admit, even to himself, that he'd been dreaming about his mother. Reliving the moment he had found her collapsed in the stairwell, lying in a pool of her own vomit, eyes wide open and staring at nothing. He hadn't been there to save her, or to even try, and it ate away at him a cancerous growth.

House rolled his eyes, a cold chuckle escaping him. "You love what she represents. Another chance to save mom." House's tone got sharper, cutting like a knife and it was obvious he knew that what he was saying would hurt. That he was hoping it would. "You, more than anyone, should know that you can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved."

Chase thought about how amusing those words were and he wished he felt better so he could properly throw them back in House's face. Instead he could barely muster a whispered, "Take your own advice, House." And there was true double meaning in his words. House didn't want to save himself, and Chase didn't want to be saved.

"What's it going to be, Chase?" House demanded, obviously unwilling to accept the challenge. He rose to his feet, pushing the chair back against the wall and looming over his duckling. "Vanessa or your job?"

"You don't have that kind of power, House," Chase shot back. "You're not god and you can't control my life. You can't make me do want you want."

House gave a derisive snort at that. "You're kidding me, right? Because I do that to you every single day. I play you like a puppet on a string and you...you can't wait to dance for me."

And that was so close to the truth that Chase felt himself flinch. He closed his eyes against the sudden sting of tears, willing them away. He didn't cry and he would never cry in front of House. He'd shoot himself in the head first. "Go to hell!" he hissed, only to find hard fingers gripping his chin. He opened his eyes and the glare from House made him shiver.

"Make your choice, Chase," House insisted.

"Leave me alone." It was begging and Chase didn't care. He shoved House's hand off him and tried to curl up on his side. The movement triggered flares of pain throughout his body, and sent his stomach lurching. Acrid bile raced up his esophagus and Chase felt himself choking on it. Then hands were on him, helping him lean over as he vomited into the basin that appeared like magic. He puked until he shuddered with the contractions of it then he felt himself pressed back into the pillows and cool wetness smoothing over his face and Cameron's soft voice whispering things he supposed were meant to comfort him. A cool rush flooded his veins without warning and Chase tensed for a moment, then the pain and nausea slipped away as he drifted into sweet oblivion.

OoO

The next day Chase talked to Cuddy about quitting the diagnostic team. But not about Vanessa, or House's forcing a choice on him. He wasn't sure how far he could trust Cuddy, although she had been very supportive of him in the past.

"If you quit, I'll be happy to hire you in ICU," Cuddy stated. "But you do realize you won't escape from House just because you move to a different department."

"I could work the night shift," Chase countered, because it wouldn't be all that different from what he did now. As the specialist in Intensive Care, it was usually his job to keep watch over their patients when they went critical.

Cuddy nodded, then her expression softened into something mirroring concern. "How are you feeling today?"

Chase considered the question. He felt like he had the world's worst hangover, but otherwise he felt better than he might have expected. The worst thing being how jittery he felt, and how weak. A trip to the bathroom earlier had about done him in. But he smiled at Cuddy and gave his pat answer, "I'm fine."

"You look tired," Cuddy said softly. "Think about what you want to do and we'll discuss it later."

"Thanks," Chase replied, then he blurted out the question that had been bothering him all day. "Am I in trouble?"

Cuddy didn't even pretend not to understand. "Should you be?" she countered. "And by that I'm asking you if I need to be worried that you'll be coming into work hung over every day."

Chase appreciated her bluntness. "I'm not an alcoholic," he replied firmly. Cuddy didn't know about his mom, no one knew but House and he wanted to keep it that way. He didn't think she knew about Vanessa either. Then again, maybe House had told her. Not that it mattered. Chase didn't intend to drink anything alcoholic again for quite some time. If ever. He looked her in the eye and stated, "It won't happen again."

"I believe you," Cuddy replied, then she patted Chase on the shoulder before turning to head for the door. "Get some rest." With that she was gone. Chase curled up on his side and closed his eyes, unaware of the fact that Foreman had heard everything and was on his way to tell House.

OoO

House was pissed. Who he was directly pissed at, he wasn't sure. He supposed it didn't really matter. Maybe he was pissed at himself for giving a damn what Chase did with his life. When Foreman had informed him that Chase had asked Cuddy about quitting and that she had offered him a position in ICU, House had felt both hurt and furious. He didn't even want to consider why he felt hurt, or maybe a better word was betrayed. So he focused on the anger instead. Like always, Chase was trying to weasel out of facing reality. The kid needed to learn that there was no such thing as neutral territory. Some times he had to make the hard choices and live with the consequences. Now was one of those times and House was going to give him hell. Right after he blasted Cuddy. He hurtled into her office, not bothering to knock. "Chase can't quit!" he snapped at her.

Cuddy looked up from the file on her desk, expelled a quiet sigh, then gestured for House to close the door. "Whether or not he wants to quit is up to Chase."

"He doesn't want to quit, he's just pissed that I banned his old lady from the premises," House shot back. He closed the door then took up position in front of Cuddy's desk.

"Legally, you can't do that," Cuddy reminded him.

House resisted the urge to roll his eyes at her. They both knew he didn't give a shit about legalities. "In case you haven't noticed, Chase is a bit messed up right now. He needs help."

Cuddy nodded, leaning forward to fold her hands on her desk and eye House with something akin to understanding. "I agree, he does. But not the kind you're offering."

"What?" House shot back, trying hard to keep an even tone. He was so angry at the moment he felt like he might pop a vein. "Tough love works in all the prison movies."

"This isn't a prison and Chase isn't a prisoner," Cuddy cautioned. "And for the record I'm going to do what I can to help him. And by that I mean get him into therapy sessions."

House snorted. "You tried that already, after his suspension. He flat out refused." Not that House could blame him.

Cuddy looked stunned for a moment, then struggled to hide it. "Chase told you about that?" She asked.

"Oh sure, we have deep and meaningful conversations all the time," House shot back, this time giving in to the urge to roll his eyes. Then he decided to mess with her by actually telling the truth. "I was eavesdropping. Anyway, we both know Chase will refuse therapy."

"Not if I make it a condition of him returning to work," Cuddy countered, smoothly. "But where he ends up working is not up to you, House. It's up to Chase. Maybe if you stop pushing him he'll stay with you."

House realized she had a point, so he dropped that particular issue. Mainly because he now had confirmation that Cuddy was fully supportive of Chase. Which begged the question, "Are you protecting Chase from something?"

Cuddy was quiet for a moment, lifting one hand to rub hard between her eyes with her fingertips. After a moment she leaned back in her chair and locked eyes with House. "Maybe," she allowed. "But it's more from someone."

"Who?" House knew it was a loaded question.

"Maybe you," Cuddy replied, not missing a beat. That said she shuffled the papers on her desk with deliberate intent. "Unlike some people, I have work to do."

House got the hint and left. There was nothing more he could do here anyway. So he headed off to see Chase. For once the Aussie was alone in his room and House entered as quietly as he could, closing the door behind him and taking a moment to watch Chase. He was sleeping curled up on one side and he looked ridiculously young and fragile. Fragile in a way that bothered House.

Moving over to the side of the bed Chase was facing, House lifted his cane and rapped on the bed rail. He smiled to himself as Chase jerked awake. "Nap time is over," House stated. "Time to make your choice. Door number one or door number two? Me or the old lady?"

"You really think I'd choose you, don't you?" Chase mumbled, shifting onto his back and trying to sit up. His movements were sluggish and he lifted one hand to fist the sleep from his eyes. "I quit," he whispered.

"You can't," House shot back, and he had been expecting it so he wasn't surprised. He was, however, determined to get his own way. "I won't let you out of your contract."

Chase closed his eyes, looking pale and worn out. "You can't have it both ways, House," he said softly. "You told me to choose. I choose Vanessa. I don't need this job."

House rapped his cane on the bedrail again, sharper this time, waiting until Chase was staring at him, eyes wide and shimmering with surprise. "You need this job in ways you don't even want to think about," he shot back. "This job, with me...it's all you have to define yourself with."

"Don't try to psychoanalyze me!" Chase snapped. "What you're doing...it isn't even about me. It's about you and your sick need to yank my chain any way you can. You play this game with me, this game that I never had the rules for. So I always lose and you love winning. But I'm not going to play anymore."

"You can't save Vanessa anymore than you could save your mother!" House taunted, and his tone was sharp and angry because Chase was giving up without a fight. He knew he pushed Chase harder than the others. He did it for a reason that Chase was oblivious to. His Aussie duckling was a good doctor, but he had the potential to be brilliant. But Chase was too afraid to make the effort, too afraid he would fail and in that failure he would lose even the hope that he was good enough at something to make somebody proud of him. House would be more than happy to show him that pride, as soon as Chase made the effort to try. Rowan Chase hadn't bothered to look at his son long enough to see what lurked beneath the shiny veneered surface his son projected. He had died never knowing the man his son was. The man House knew Chase could be. He'd be damned if he'd let Chase give up on himself. Certainly not because of some stupid, misplaced, guilt. Guilt served no useful purpose and House was going to badger if out of Chase if he had too.

But Chase was curling away from House, his voice muffled into his pillow as he pleaded, "Leave me alone."

House stomped around to the other side of the bed, pinning Chase with a glare that would have been more effective if the Aussie's eyes were open. But that didn't stop House from delivering a parting shot. "You're mother is dead, get over it. Vanessa is one foot away from the grave. Stop letting her drag you down with her. She doesn't love you anymore than you love her. You're just a pretty little boy toy she likes playing with because you're willing to clean up her messes. Focus on saving yourself, Chase. You know what you have to do."

Watching Chase's pale face, House hoped for some reaction. But the younger man didn't stir and after a moment House left the room, cursing Chase all the way down the hallway. House would save him in spite of himself. He would do it if only to prove that he could.

THE END...of part 3


	4. Chapter 4

**REWIND...part 4**

Chase was frustrated. Three days later and House was still refusing to allow Vanessa to come see him, or even call. And everyone seemed to be supporting him. He was also refusing to let Chase leave the hospital. Not that he was in any condition to argue that point much. 

Just this morning he had pulled out his IV after sweet talking a nurse into bringing him a set of scrubs. He had then managed a quick shower, scrubbing his hair as well, but by the time he was done and dressed he'd had to pretty much accept crawling back to bed. Luckily, or maybe not so luckily, Foreman had been waiting outside the door. After practically hauling Chase back to bed, Foreman had hooked him up to another IV before threatening to shove his breakfast down his throat if he didn't eat. Chase had eaten what he could, only to throw it up a few minutes ago. So at this point he was still feeling like shit warmed over.

The only positive thing to happen was that Chase had been House free for two days. A fact that should have made him happy, but it actually worried him a bit. He had a feeling House was up to something that was going to affect him in a negative way.

After flipping through all the magazines Cameron had brought him, Chase flipped through the TV channels. Nothing of interest. Cameron had also brought him a novel, some thriller, that looked interesting enough, but trying to focus well enough to read made his head hurt. So Chase settled for sleeping. Which was helping him feel stronger, which was a positive thing.

He was lightly dozing, in fact, when Wilson popped his head in. Chase struggled a bit to wake up, frowning when he saw who it was. It wasn't as if he and Wilson were friends or anything. Which made Chase suspicious that House had sent him for some reason. "Is something wrong?" Chase asked, because he wasn't sure what else to say.

"Probably," Wilson allowed. He looked nervous and kept glancing towards the door. "I brought someone to see you," he said, then he was at the door and pulling a familiar figure inside.

Chase was stunned. "Vanessa?" She flew over to his bedside and hugged him. Over her shoulder Chase locked eyes with Wilson. He was happy to see Vanessa and hugged her back, but he was totally confused. Pulling away, but allowing Vanessa to take hold of one hand, Chase confronted Wilson. "House allowed this?"

Wilson shook his head. "No. He doesn't know about it. Of course he's going to know about it soon enough, and he's going to be pissed as hell. But I'll deal with it."

"Why did you do this?" Chase countered, then realized how blunt and cold it sounded. "Not that I'm not grateful." He smiled up at Vanessa who was eyeing him with concern. Chase then focused back on Wilson. "But we're not friends and House is going to be so pissed at you."

"We all have reasons for the things we do," Wilson replied, an enigmatic look on his face. "I would think you'd understand, better than anyone, about not wanting to share those reasons."

Chase couldn't argue that point. He knew that people formed an instant impression of him and he always allowed them to live with it. Like Foreman and his belief that Chase didn't care about patients, or anything really. He didn't need for anyone to know who he really was. He was content to let them make things up and act towards him accordingly. So he nodded at Wilson then said, "Thanks."

Wilson shrugged. "Sure. Just enjoy what time you do have." With that he was out the door.

Chase then found himself enveloped in another hug. A smothering hug. He allowed it mostly because he was too tired to protest. When Vanessa finally eased back, Chase managed to smile at her. "How have you been?" he queried. She looked worn out and anxious. Jittery. That wasn't a good sign.

"I've been worried about you, beautiful," Vanessa replied, trailing shaky fingers over his face as if mapping it to memory. "You're going to be all right though, aren't you?"

"I'm going to be fine," Chase assured her, grabbing her roaming hand and pressing it to his chest. "Don't worry about me. I'll be home soon."

Vanessa nodded, tugging her hand free and releasing his other one so that she could pace about the room. "I'm sorry about not coming to see you."

Chase cut her off. "It wasn't your fault."

"They wouldn't let me in," Vanessa continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "I would have come."

"I know." Chase watched her closely, wondering if she'd stopped drinking since he'd gotten sick. She looked like she did the couple of times she'd tried to stop in the past. Not that it ever lasted long. Up to three days at most, then she felt so crappy she tended to drown herself in a bottle. A sudden flash of memory, of his mother doing the same thing, flitted into Chase's head and he stiffened, startled by its clarity and, shaken by the emotions that came with it. He didn't want to think about his mother anymore. "Don't worry about it, Vanessa," Chase said firmly. "You're here now."

She stopped pacing and turned to face him. "I can't stay though. I have meetings today. I didn't expect to be able to see you." She was back by the bed and leaning in to kiss him.

Chase kissed her back, feeling the way she was shaking. He pulled back to study her face. "Are you going to be okay?" He was half tempted to call for Wilson and have him take her to an exam room just to be sure. Her skin looked a bit ashen and her eyes were sunken in a face that was a bit bloated looking.

"I could have killed you," Vanessa whispered, and she was blinking hard as if holding back tears.

"The alcohol could have killed me," Chase countered, his voice going sharp. "I'm the one who drank it. You didn't force me too." He knew there was no one to blame for what happened, except himself. "It won't happen again," he added more softly, reaching out to capture one of her hands and bring it to his lips. He pressed a butterfly kiss into her palm then smiled at her. "You go about your business and I'll be home soon. Okay?"

Vanessa nodded, leaning in for another kiss and to slide her fingers through his hair as she was wont to do. "I'll come back soon," she promised.

Chase smiled. "Okay," he replied, all the while knowing that she wouldn't be. Vanessa didn't handle sickness well, not even her own. He knew he'd be released soon so he would be home and everything would go back to normal. He was craving normal about now. Normal as in sitting in the conference room with House tormenting him. That was a normal Chase could deal with.

"I love you, beautiful," Vanessa whispered. Then she kissed him again before almost running from the room.

She hadn't waited for Chase to say the words back. As he shifted onto his side and closed his eyes, he realized she never did. And maybe that should have meant something, but he was too tired to care.

OoO

House was watching General Hospital in his office, when Wilson dropped in. He could tell by the look on the other man's face that he had done something he didn't want to tell House about. But at the same time, he was obvious he was going to spill his guts. Curious, House turned off the mini TV and focused all of his attention on his friend. "So, what's up?" he prompted.

Wilson heaved a sigh then blurted out, "I brought Vanessa in to see Chase. She's with him right now."

The words sank it, but it took House a moment to react. Anger warred with disbelief but anger won out. "What the hell were you thinking!" he snarled, rising from his chair and moving around his desk to confront Wilson. "You do realize you just undid all the good I've done the past few days!" He was so angry now he was starting to see red, so he leaned against the desk and tried to calm himself.

"I was thinking that you need help," Wilson quietly replied.

"Help?" House echoed, letting his expression show his confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose, then he looked thoughtful for a moment, as if carefully choosing what he was going to say. "The only thing you've accomplished by keeping Chase and Vanessa apart is to piss Chase off enough to want to quit. And I think he's seriously thinking about it. So, to prevent that from happening, I let him see Vanessa."

House stared at Wilson in disbelief. "And you really think that's going to help? That woman is the reason Chase is playing patient instead of playing doctor. She's the reason he almost died!"

"But he didn't die," Wilson countered firmly. "and you're going to lose him anyway if you don't back off. The thing about that is, you need him as much as he needs you."

"Trying to moonlight in psychobabble again?" House scoffed. He wasn't going to listen to Wilson spout nonsense. He didn't need Chase in his life. The kid was an emotional mess, and a pain in House's proverbial ass. The only reason he was bothering with him at all was because the Aussie had the potential to be a damn brilliant doctor someday. If he didn't kill himself with stupidity first.

Wilson shook his head, then turned to head out the door. But he called over his shoulder, "Do you have to do. I've done what I can." With that he walked out without looking back.

House watched him go before limping back to his chair and settling in so he could go back to watching General Hospital. Only he didn't bother to turn the TV on. He realized that at this moment he had enough drama to deal with.

OoO

Chase only vaguely listened as Cameron filled him in on the hospital gossip. He appreciated her concern for him, but he didn't feel like visiting with anyone right now. In fact, the only thing he wanted to do was leave and go home. Which he'd brought up when Cameron first arrived only to be told that House had no intention of releasing him any sooner than four days from now. He had argued that he didn't need to be here for four days and Cameron had stalled him by telling him to talk to House. House was the last person Chase wanted to talk to.

"So how did you meet Vanessa?" Cameron was asking.

Which threw Chase off balance because he realized he hadn't been paying attention and Cameron had shifted the subject matter onto something entirely too personal. So Chase glared at her and replied, "Do I ask you about your private life?"

Cameron quirked an eyebrow, looking more surprised than hurt by his sharpness. Then she said softly, I thought maybe you'd like to talk about it?"

"Can't think of any reason why I would," Chase shot back, not meeting her eyes.

"How about because that's what friends do," Cameron replied. "And I'd like to think that we're friends."

Chase sighed, one hand lifting to rub at his temple. He could feel a headache kicking in. "That must have happened when I wasn't looking."

This time Cameron flinched at his words. "Guess I was wrong. Sorry. I won't bother you again."

"Wait!" Chase called after her as she hurried for the door. When she froze in place he whispered, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Why do you insist on keeping people at arm's length," Cameron asked, as she returned to his bed side. "Why can't you let anyone in?"

Chase sighed and realized he would have to give her a reason. He owed her that much. "Let's just say that I don't do friendships well. Okay? And if you got to know me, you wouldn't like me anyway."

Cameron shook her head at him. "I don't believe that. I know you're not the person you want people to believe you are."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Chase queried, because he was both surprised to hear her say that and a bit worried that he was giving too much away. He tried so hard not to let anyone get too close. It was all about letting people see who they wanted to see when they looked at him. That way they tended to want to keep their distance and that made life easier all the way around. It kept Chase from becoming tempted to want something he knew he would never have. To pretend that he deserved to love someone and to be loved. He knew better.

"It means you've got everything going for you," Cameron replied, looking a bit frustrated. "You have looks and money which draw people to you like a moth to a flame, but you don't let them get close enough to touch you. You want people to believe you don't give a damn about anything or anyone."

Chase shrugged. "That's because I don't." He wondered if he pulled off sounding blasé. Sometimes he tried to imitate house in that respect, but he was all too aware of how he fell short of that particular standard. House had it down to a science.

Cameron smiled softly. "I've seen you with patients. How you interact with them when you think no one's looking. And whenever we have a case and you've worked with a patient, almost every time when I go in to see them they have something nice to say about you. Hell, sometimes they practically rave about you. You know how to make a good impression, but you're selective in who gets to see that side of you."

"What do you care?" Chase shot back, because he really wanted to stop her in her tracks. The last thing he needed was Cameron trying to psychoanalyze him. If he could piss her off, maybe she would go away.

"I care because I care," Cameron said, reaching out to squeeze his arm. "I'll see you later." With that she walked out of the room.

Leaving Chase to wonder just how messed up his life had become. He didn't have much time for introspection because a few minutes later Cuddy was knocking on the door and entering with a strained smile on her face.

"Got a minute?" she asked, as she reached his side.

"Depends," Chase countered. "Am I in trouble?" Because he got the distinct impression that whatever she wanted to talk about, he wasn't going to like it.

Cuddy released a soft sigh, then offered a tired smile. "You're not in trouble, but there is something we need to discuss."

Chase knew for sure he wasn't going to be happy with this conversation, but that aside he figured she might as well get straight to the point. "What's up?"

"I've been reviewing you case file," Cuddy began.

"Why?" Chase tensed up, feeling the ache in his head throttle up into a pounding throb in both temples.

Cuddy held up a hand, gesturing for him to let her finish. "You've been through a lot in the past year, Chase. The emotional trauma would have broken most people, myself included."

It was Chase's turn to hold up a hand to stop her. "I'm not most people!" he hissed, indignantly.

"Add to that what's happened in your childhood and so on, it's no surprise that you're struggling right now," Cuddy continued, as if he hadn't interrupted.

"Who says I'm struggling?" Chase was getting angry now.

Cuddy looked pained as she replied, "I think your actions speak for themselves. You know I wanted you to go into sessions after your suspension and the incident of the aftermath of your father's death."

Chase closed his eyes, not wanting to rehash this. "I didn't need therapy then and I don't need it now," he whispered. If she pushed him he was more than ready to walk out the door and never look back.

"You nearly died from alcohol poisoning," Cuddy stated, as if he needed reminding.

"I did something stupid," Chase allowed. "I didn't know that would happen." He couldn't have known. Up until that fateful night, he'd never had more than three glasses of wine in one sitting. Vodka had never been his drink of choice.

Cuddy touched his arm, waiting for him to look at her before continuing. "I want you to go into sessions with Dr. Bradley. Just once a week for a few months. I think it will help you."

Chase scowled at her. "Talking doesn't help anything!" he shot back. "It's just saying words that don't mean anything."

"I'm making it a condition of you being able to come back to work," Cuddy said softly.

"I'm not an alcoholic." Chase was barely able to force the words out, but he knew she could hear the desperation in his voice. Knew it had to be mirrored in his eyes.

Cuddy looked at him with what could only be sympathy. "Some addictions aren't drug or alcohol related," she stated.

Chase knew what she was saying and he wanted to scream at her that she was wrong. He wasn't addicted to fucking up his life, or to making nothing but wrong choices. He didn't need to talk about what had happened. He just needed to be able to move past it. He tried to think of some way to convince her to change her mind, but one look at her face and he knew she wouldn't bend on this. Cuddy could out stubborn a mule when she wanted too. "Do I have to talk to a shrink?" he countered, tempering his voice to something resembling neutral.

"What do you mean?" Cuddy frowned at him in confusion.

"Can I talk to you instead?" Chase was warming up to his own idea. "You're the one who needs to be satisfied that I'm functional, right? So talking directly to you solves the problem. For both of us. Because that way I don't feel like I'm babbling my private life to some stranger."

Cuddy looked nonplussed for a moment, her eyebrows drawing down into a frown as she contemplated his request. After a long moment of silence, she nodded. "All right, we'll try it your way," she allowed. "We'll have our first, unofficial, session tomorrow. First thing in the morning."

Chase nodded, then he remembered something he wanted to ask her. "Listen, um...House won't release me so I was wondering if you could sign me out. I promise to show up first thing tomorrow."

"I think it's best if you stay here for a few more days," Cuddy countered, looking almost apologetic. "But I'll see if I can get you released sooner than what House has been threatening you with."

"Fair enough," Chase replied, offering a smile. He was willing to take whatever he could get. With that he watched Cuddy glide away, then he turned on his side and closed his eyes. But he didn't fall asleep. He was afraid to dream.

OoO

House hadn't had the best two days. They didn't have a patient, which meant Cameron and Foreman were doing a lot of clinic time, which did work in his favor. But on the negative aspect, he had been avoiding Chase. Which was actually in Chase's best interest. So long as House wasn't in the same room with the Aussie, he wouldn't be tempted to choke him. Another plus was the fact that after her initial visit, it turned out Vanessa hadn't bothered to come back. Apparently Chase was being close-mouthed as to why, but House realized he didn't care why. He only cared that she wasn't around.

What bothered House was that Chase was being released tomorrow.. Cuddy had set her foot down about that, in spite of House's best arguments against it. Mainly that letting Chase go back to Vanessa would be detrimental to his health. Cuddy had just smiled at him and told him to deal. The only plus side was that Chase was coming back to work the day after, which meant House could keep an eye on him, at least during daytime hours.

But it wasn't enough and House knew it. So to that end, he tracked down Wilson. "I need you to talk to Chase," House blurted out.

Wilson looked surprised at that. "You'd trust me to do that after the Vanessa thing?"

"She hasn't been back so I'm hoping it's a wake up call for Chase, in which case you did a good thing. Even though it was accidental," House replied. "So go talk to him."

"What about?" Wilson looked intrigued, but confused.

House heaved a sigh, wishing that people would just do as they were told without expecting explanations for everything. Explanations and reasons were just words filling up space and masquerading as something significant. Ultimately they were empty and meaningless, and with that thought House gave himself a mental slap down for waxing so damn philosophical. He had better things to do with his time. "Talk to him about things," he stated.

Wilson was amused by that, if his smirky grin were anything to go by. "Things?" he echoed. "Any things in particular?"

"Funny," House drawled, knowing when he was being played. He was the master of it, after all. "Just get him talking about anything. Other than medicine. Find out if he's a cat lover or a dog lover. If he pulled wings off flies as a kid. Or maybe he was a bed wetter."

"Are you describing your own childhood?" Wilson interjected, fighting a laugh.

House whacked him in the shin with his cane. Not hard enough to hurt really, just hard enough to get his attention. "Chase is being released tomorrow and he hasn't talked to anyone about what happened. Cameron is too nosy, Foreman and Chase aren't exactly buddies and Chase is a bit miffed at me."

Wilson snorted. "Like that's something knew. And it's not like he would talk to you anyway."

"Which is my point," House countered, somewhat snappishly. And he knew he was feeling peeved because Wilson was being far too perceptive about what he was doing and why.

"Can't you just admit that you're worried about Chase, then ask me...nicely...to chat with him?" Wilson countered.

House gave him a bug-eyed and overly dramatic, surprised reaction. "Have you met me?" he shot back, without missing a beat.

Wilson sighed. "Unfortunately...yes," he drawled, heaving an overblown sigh. "But…okay. I'll talk to Chase. Even though we both know it'll be a waste of time. He's not going to talk to me. If I were a betting man I'd lay odds on him talking to God before he'd talk to any of us."

"You suck at betting," House replied, nudging Wilson in the right direction. "Besides which, don't sell yourself short. Chase kinda owes you one for sneaking Vanessa in and he's the type of guy that hates owing anyone anything. I bet he'll pay his debt and have a chat with you."

"Bet you a steak dinner at LoSerno's that he won't," Wilson countered.

House smirked and shook Wilson's outstretched hand. "You're on. And I'm going to want dessert." Knowing that he had achieved his goal, House was ready to move on to the next problem. How to keep himself from being bored for the six hours before General Hospital came on.

OoO

Chase was trying to read when Wilson entered the room. He was surprised to see the other man and didn't bother to hide it, laying his book aside to focus on him. In truth he was a welcome distraction. "Dr. Wilson," he offered in greeting.

Wilson moved to his bedside, looking a bit uncomfortable. "I hear you're being released tomorrow," he stated.

"Yeah, Dr. Cuddy arranged it," Chase replied. He studied Wilson's face, seeing his left eye twitch a bit. He was pretty sure House had sent Wilson to see him. Why, however, was a mystery.

"Then back to work the next day?" Wilson continued. At Chase's nod he added, "Sure you're ready for that?"

Chase nodded again. "After all this time in bed, I can't wait to up and about."

Wilson offered a smile at that. "I can imagine. You know why House kept you here."

"To keep me from going home to Vanessa," Chase promptly replied. "It's not like he was trying to hide it from me. I know he hates her and he blames her for what happened."

"Who do you blame?" Wilson shot back.

Chase was surprised by the question and by the tone in which it was asked. Wilson seemed a bit intense. "I blame myself," he replied, without hesitation. "I drank the vodka."

Wilson looked pleased by his answer and he seemed to relax a bit. "Ever had alcohol poisoning before?"

"Is this twenty questions?" Chase countered, more curious than upset about it. Even though he knew anything he said to Wilson would, potentially, be relayed back to House. So far they were on safe ground so he was willing to answer.

"Just curious," Wilson replied.

Chase almost smiled at that. "You're curious or House is curious?"

Wilson grimaced, running a hand over his face before replying, "Sometimes it feels like that's interchangeable."

"I've never had it before," Chase answered. "Now, can I ask you something?"

"Seems only fair," Wilson allowed.

Chase was glad to hear that, then he geared himself up for what he wanted to say. He cleared his throat then said, "I know House sent you to talk to me, but if I said I actually do want to talk to you about what happened, will you apply doctor-patient confidentiality?"

Wilson looked surprised by his question, his eyes going wide, then narrowing thoughtfully. "In other words you don't want House to know anything you say to me."

"I don't want anyone to know," Chase said, being specific.

"Well, I did prescribe allergy pills for you the first year you came here," Wilson replied. "Guess that makes you a patient, if only technically."

Chase needed him to be very clear on what was expected. "You promise you won't say anything to anyone?"

Wilson nodded, his expression grave. "As your doctor, I won't say a word to anyone. Whatever you say to me in this room, stays in this room."

"Okay, thank you." Chase felt a sense of relief. He took a breath, released it slowly, then blurted out, "I'm having sessions with Cuddy."

"Sessions?" Wilson repeated, looking confused.

Chase winced then tried to explain. "She wanted me to go to a shrink and I bargained her down to being able to talk to her instead."

Wilson looked impressed. "Clever."

"I suppose. It's easy enough to say what she wants to hear," Chase allowed.

"But not the truth?" Wilson was no fool.

Chase shrugged. "The truth she needs to hear." He shifted about, searching for a more comfortable position. Wishing he could just tear out his IV and walk out of the room. At least the IV was coming out later, so he had that to look forward to. But he was losing track of his focus.

Wilson was watching him closely. After a moment he grabbed a chair, hauled it over and sat down. "Why are you telling me this really?" he asked.

"Because you don't care what I tell you," Chase promptly replied. And that was the crux of it. They weren't friends, not exactly enemies. Wilson was like Switzerland in a sense. Neutral territory. "And because I trust you not to tell House. You're the only one in this place I can trust to respect my privacy. Or maybe it's just a test to see if you will. You respected my dad's privacy."

"It's that whole doctor-patient thing," Wilson interjected.

Chase nodded. "Which I'm calling you on now," he reminded him.

Wilson nodded. "Right. So, what did you want to talk about?"

"How do you know when you're in love?" Chase blurted out. "How do you know it's real?"

"You're asking me that?" Wilson looked stunned. "I'm the guy that falls in love at the drop of the hat. I don't have an answer for that, Chase."

Chase realized Wilson wasn't an expert by any means. He just wanted to pick his brain a bit. He knew he, himself, was a train wreck when it came to emotional relationships. Hence the stupid things he'd done in his life, like sleeping with Cameron when she was high on meth, because he knew she loved House and therefore sleeping with her would have no repercussions. Or kissing Andie because a nine year old had the ability to manipulate him against his better judgment. Wilson had to have a better grasp of all things emotional than he did. "Just tell me what you think love is supposed to be," Chase clarified. Then he spent the next half hour listening and asking questions. By the time Wilson left, Chase was just as confused as before, but at least it gave him something different to think about. And it kept his subconscious mind preoccupied enough to let him sleep without dreaming.

OoO

House cornered Wilson, just seconds after he came out of Chase's room. "So? What happened?"

"We talked," Wilson replied, noncommittally.

"Ah ha!" House exulted.

Wilson quirked an eyebrow at him. "For the record, we had a nice chat."

House stared at him in disbelief. He knew a lot more had gone on that Wilson wasn't telling him. The thing being, why wasn't he telling him? He should be spouting details. "That's it?" he huffed.

"That's it. The rest comes under confidentiality," Wilson countered smoothly. "Oh, a word to the wise though. Chase is doing better, so leave him be." With that, Wilson turned and continued walking.

"You still owe me dinner!" House shouted after him, before muttering curses beneath his breath when all Wilson did was waggle a hand in the air. For a moment House debated going into Chase's room and confronting him. But then he decided to take Wilson's advice. For the moment anyway. So he stomped off down the hallway.

The next day, however, was a different matter. When House went to check on Chase he was surprised to find Cameron already there, fussing over the Aussie. Chase looked a bit irritated by the attention, but had a smile firmly plastered on his face as Cameron helped him with his jacket. He was dressed in jeans and a blue pullover, and the jacket was his black leather one.

"Going so soon?" House quipped, as he fully entered the room.

"No thanks to you," Chase shot back, a flicker of anger there and gone in his eyes.

House leaned on his cane then shrugged with a nonchalance born of years of practice. "What can I say? I have this thing about not releasing patients until they're well again."

Chase narrowed his gaze at House for a moment, then softly replied, "I'm healing well enough."

"Sure you are." House let his disbelief color his tone for all to hear. He then limped in a bit farther, tapping Cameron on the shoulder with his cane. "Go away while I talk to Chase," he told her. She glared at him for a moment before turning back to Chase for one last moment of fussing.

"Call for me when you're ready to leave," she ordered, because it was nothing but. "I'll bring the car around."

Chase sighed. "I already told you I'll catch a cab."

Cameron shook her head at him. "I'm driving you. It's no bother." With that she made as if to pat Chase on the shoulder, but seemed to think better of it, pulling her hand back before turning and almost stalking out the door.

"Must be PMSing," House commented, watching her go.

"What do you want?" Chase asked, pushing past the bullshit.

House was more than happy to get straight to the point, in his own meandering kind of way. "So why isn't Vanessa here to take you home?" he queried, his eyes locked on Chase's pale face. He was looking for any and all reactions that might give him a clue what the Aussie was thinking or feeling. Chase was the best of the ducklings at hiding his true feelings. He had an innate ability to remain almost disturbingly calm. He could think on his feet in any crisis. It was something House admired about him, not that he'd ever admit to it. And it was a handy trait to have as a specialist in Intensive Care. But annoying at times as far as House was concerned. Chase tended not to take the bait when House wanted to play with him. Like now.

Chase did nothing more than offer a crooked smile as he replied, "She's home, waiting for me."

"Get a good nights sleep," House said, eyeing the dark circles under Chase's eyes. Blue eyes that looked dull at the moment. With all the sleeping he'd been doing, his eyes should be sparkling, but they looked hollow and empty. And House decided he didn't want to give it any more meaning other than the kid was tired. "You do remember you're back to work tomorrow, right?"

"I remember," Chase drawled. He turned away, reaching for a small bag that bulged with books and magazines. "See you tomorrow," Chase called over his shoulder, as he headed for the door.

House moved to intercept him, but Chase was faster, he was in the hallway when House called after him, "What about Cameron!" But Chase didn't respond, he just kept walking. House watched him till he was out of sight, rather hoping he would get caught by Cameron. He could page her. Plus there was the hospital regulations stating that all discharged patients must escorted out by wheelchair. The chair that was sitting in corner of the room looking rather forlorn.

Heaving a sigh, House sat down in the chair, propped his cane between his knees and wheeled himself down to his office. He hoped Cameron would be there so he could torment her for a while, since Chase wasn't being any fun. But House realized he didn't really feel up to playing his usual games, and that his thoughts were focused on what special hell was waiting for Chase when he got home.

**THE END...of part 4**


	5. Chapter 5

**REWIND...part 5**

Chase felt a bit guilty about slipping out on Cameron, but he had tried to warn her that he'd called a cab long before she'd offered to drive him home. Truth be told he didn't want her to know where he lived. It was bad enough that House knew. Wilson he could deal with, but House already knew too much about him, which meant he had way more ammunition to use against him. Chase was tired of feeling like he was trapped in a war zone. Especially since he knew the war, and the battles he fought, were mostly of his own making. He was tired of fucking up his life, yet he didn't know how to stop the vicious cycle he was trapped in.

He shook himself out of his reverie when he realized the cab had come to a stop. He was home. Funny thing was, it didn't feel like home any more than his old apartment had. Or anymore than the house he had grown up in had been a home. They were all just places to live. More specifically, a place to shower, change clothes and sleep in.

Paying off the cab driver, Chase headed into the house. He was more than a little surprised to find it was deserted. He had called Vanessa this morning to remind her he was coming home. She had said she couldn't wait and even offered to blow off a meeting to pick him up. Chase had assured her he could get home on his own. Vanessa being gone wasn't the surprise so much as the household staff not being there. Not that he minded. Alone time sounded perfect right about now.

Heading upstairs, the first thing Chase did was peel off his clothes and step into the shower. Ten minutes later he was pulling on a light pair of sweat pants then crawling into bed. Maybe now he could get a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

But to sleep meant to dream and Chase got caught up in old memories of his mother.

He had come home from a date to find his mum wandering around the house with a bottle of gin in one hand, singing at the top of her lungs. He made a grab for her and the bottle but she had eluded him. When he tried again, she'd slugged him with the blunt end of the bottle, catching him a glancing blow on the shoulder since her movement was slow and uncoordinated, but it left a bruise that didn't fade for weeks and he had been careful to make sure she never saw it. She had collapsed then, crying in his arms, begging his forgiveness. He had given it freely and without hesitation, then he put her to bed.

While she was sleeping he found every bottle she had stashed and dumped them all down the drain. His mother had been furious with him. Furious and hung-over and desperate and this time he hadn't seen the blow coming. She hurled a vase at him as he turned away from her and it hit him in the back of the head, hard enough to knock him to his knees. When it hit the floor it shattered and Chase had cut himself on fragments while trying to keep his mum away from the mess so she wouldn't cut her bare feet.

In the end, he'd simply held her as she cried some more and promised to be good, letting her fingers comb through his hair and probe the lump that had formed. Not making a sound as she tried to mother him, not letting her know she was years too late to even bother making the attempt. He held her until she got sick, then he held her hair back over the toilet, got her cleaned up in the shower and put back into bed. He sat with her, reading from her favorite book of poems until she fell asleep. He didn't leave her side until school the next day and he'd gotten the call there to come home. A frantic call from the housekeeper.

By the time Chase had arrived the ambulance was right behind him and he flew inside the house, catching a glimpse of his mother crumpled in a pool of her own vomit in the middle of the foyer. Then the medics were there, pushing him aside, and he listened to them, knowing what they would find. She was already dead. He hadn't gone with her to the hospital, instead he had gone upstairs to her room. He made her bed, picked up her things so the room was neat, the way she liked it. Then he went into the bathroom and threw up until he was gagging. Then he curled up on her bed, hugging her pillow, not moving until his dad had called with his condolences. Chase had hung up on him, then he had made the calls necessary for her burial. He found the last bottle of booze she drank, with an inch of gin left. He drank it down in a gulp, threw up again, then went on with his life.

Which brought him to the present and Chase was flinging himself out of bed and into the bathroom, puking his guts out and shaking from the memories he wished he could bury deep and forget about. When he was finally done retching, he leaned back against the wall, cool sweat slicking his skin, body still trembling and that was when he noticed the vodka bottle on the countertop, right next to Vanessa's make up kit. 

Chase closed his eyes and started to laugh.

OoO

He went for a run. Once upon a time he used to love to run. To push his body past endurance, to feel the burn in his legs, his heart pumping in his chest, and still manage to go that one more mile. He ran two miles before his body protested to the point where Chase knew he was pushing his luck. When he got back to the house, he had to cling to the banister to get up the stairs. It wasn't until he was in the bathroom and peeling off his clothes that he noticed the vodka bottle was gone. Vanessa had to be back.

Needing a shower to cleanse his body as well as his mind, Chase stepped under the spray of hot water and scrubbed hard. He had just finished and was drying his hair when Vanessa strolled into the room, a smile on her lips and her eyes bright and a bit glazed.

"Welcome home, beautiful," she whispered, her eyes roaming over his body.

"Thanks," Chase replied, wishing he'd thought to wrap a towel around his waist. He suddenly felt far too exposed to the hunger in her eyes. A hunger for more than a pound of flesh from him. That was something he could easily give. But Chase knew that Vanessa wanted his heart and soul as well and he wasn't sure he was capable of giving them too her, but a part of him was pretty sure she could take them from him, if he wasn't careful.

Vanessa prowled over to Chase, wrapping her body around his and drawing him into a kiss. No words passed between them as she drew him into the bedroom and pushed him onto the bed.

Chase let her do anything she wanted. He needed the distraction and it kept her from drinking. And when it was over he let himself drift to sleep with Vanessa cradled in his arms and he wondered who was holding who, and if it really mattered in the end.

OoO

House couldn't sleep. He told himself it was because of his leg but he knew it was a lie. And why should he be any different than anyone else? Might as well lie, too. So he sat at the piano, idly running his fingers over the keys and playing various bits of melodies while he tried not to think about what was really keeping him up.

Chase.

It took a concentrated effort not to call the kid. Especially since it hadn't been easy sneaking into Cuddy's file cabinet and getting that particular bit of info on Chase. He had grabbed his keys and headed for the door twice, intending to just drive to the house, but he knew he didn't have that right. Not that that would stop him, if he really wanted to go. Which he did. He just talked himself into believing he could trust Chase. They had their trust issues on some things, past and present, but House had to believe that Chase would not be stupid enough to suck down another bottle of vodka. He had to trust that Chase could tell Vanessa no.

Which had him just about out the door again. Chase couldn't tell a nine year old girl no, how the hell was he ever going to stand up to Vanessa? Jamming his fingers onto the piano keys in frustration, then wincing and hoping he hadn't just knocked it out of tune, House got up and stumped around the room. He had to distract himself so he could get some sleep. So he slumped onto the couch and grabbed the remote, finding the cooking channel. Nothing more boring in the world than the cooking channel. Better than sleeping pills. So House settled in, eyes glued to the screen and finally felt himself drifting off, thoughts of Chase finally drifting away.

OoO

Chase came awake with a jolt of fear, and it took a moment for him to realize where he was and who he was with. Just for a second he had thought he was back home with his mum. Shaking the images of the nightmare away, Chase slid out of bed, being careful not to disturb Vanessa. He studied his lover for a moment, not missing the lines around her eyes and mouth, or the shimmer of gray roots marring the red sheen of her carefully colored hair. Her fingernails were a bit ragged, in spite of the fake nails, because nothing seemed able to stop her from gnawing on them. She looked old in the cold morning light. Old in the way his mother had looked in the end. As old and worn out as he felt.

Turning away from the bed, Chase slipped into sweats and a tee shirt and went for a run. An hour later he came back, feeling a bit shaky, and stepped into the shower. He got cleaned up and dressed in a plain dark blue shirt with a monotone matching tie. He pulled on dark trousers and a jacket, brushed his hair leaving it to dry however it liked, then he headed for the kitchen to make a slice of toast. He knew he needed something in his stomach, even though it was churning a bit. In the end he managed half a slice of toast and two swallows of orange juice.

Back upstairs, Chase brushed his teeth, made a face at how wavy his hair was today, then he went back into the bedroom to grab his keys and things, stuffing them into his pockets.

"Where are you going?" Vanessa asked from the bed. She was sitting up with the sheet clutched to her chest, her hair flattened to her skull, her eyes dull.

"To work," Chase replied, even as he moved to her side with aspirin and a glass of watered down tomato juice. Vanessa swore the combination helped settle her stomach. Chase knew it was psychosomatic. With his mother it had been lukewarm, weak raspberry tea with a dollop of honey in it.

Vanessa accepted the pills and the juice, knocking the tablets back and draining half the glass before handing it back. "You don't seriously have to go into work today?" she countered, eyes wide with disbelief. "You just got released from the hospital, beautiful. Surely even House doesn't expect you to work?"

Chase sighed as he sat on the edge of the bed then forced a smile. "House kept me in the hospital longer than I needed to be so I'm all better now," he assured her, leaning in to brush a kiss to her pale cheek. "And I really do need to get back to work. I feel fine now, Vanessa. Don't worry about me." Chase kissed her cheek again then rose to his feet. "Hope you're staying in for a bit," he said, changing the topic off himself. "Or do you have meetings."

"Meetings," Vanessa mumbled, pressing her palms to her temples. "I feel like crap though."

"Sleep in," Chase advised. "Since you're the boss you can do that." He grinned at her a moment then headed for the door. "I'll see you later," he called over his shoulder.

Vanessa had already snuggled back into the pillows so she didn't reply.

Chase didn't look back. He was afraid of what he might see.

OoO

The two hours of sleep Chase had gotten weren't enough to keep him going and he knew it. So on his way to the hospital he stopped at a nearby convenience store and stocked up on espresso shots and Mountain Dew. He drank two shots on the way and hoped that regular coffee and the Mountain Dew would be enough to get him through the day. He wasn't going to risk bringing the Espresso Shots in for House to find again.

He made it to work early, as he usually did, mainly because he liked having the conference room to himself first thing in the morning. After stowing his stuff in his locker, Chase headed for Diagnostics and was pleased to see no one else had arrived. He had this sudden fear that Cameron would be waiting for him with a smile and a hug. Grinning to himself at that image, Chase moved to the corner table and made coffee. He made it strong. While it brewed he shook out the paper he'd bought and went to work on the crossword. And, for the moment, he let himself believe that everything was back to normal.

Twenty minutes later Chase was on his second cup of coffee when Cameron came in. She smiled at him and did, indeed, give him a hug as she welcomed him back into the fold. Chase reminded her that he hadn't been gone all that long, then he hugged her back. He had always taken some measure of comfort in her presence, if only because he knew she would always be who she was. That he could trust in the fact that even if it was stupid of her to do so, Cameron would always care about people. Even care about him. Cold comfort perhaps, but Chase was willing to cling to it right now.

"Do we have a case?" he asked, as they broke apart and Cameron wandered over to pour herself a cup of coffee. "Use a lot of cream and sugar," Chase warned her. "I accidentally made it strong." Just a white lie and easy enough to get away with. Everybody lied anyway. It was the first lesson he had learned from House and he had learned it well. Especially about himself.

"No case," Cameron replied, before taking a sip of the coffee and making a face. "Wow, strong is an understatement," she told him.

Chase shrugged. "Sorry about that."

Cameron shrugged back at him. "No big deal. It still tastes better than mine."

They chatted for a bit about nonsensical things, then Foreman came walking in, greeting Chase as if he'd just seen him yesterday at work and Chase was glad for it. Nothing had changed as far as he was concerned. He wanted everything to be as it had been. To be the way it was supposed to be.

House came in by the time Foreman had poured himself a cup of coffee, making a face when Cameron told him there was no case, then he sent her off to find one. Foreman got up saying he had a consult since he wasn't needed here and House merely nodded at him.

Chase waited for House's gaze to fall upon him. The blue eyes were sharp and imposing, but he didn't flinch away. "I'll head for the clinic then," Chase offered.

"Sign my name," House called after him.

"Sure," Chase replied, and he expelled a sigh of relief that it had been so easy to escape. He went to the clinic but signed in under his own name, then he spent the next three hours seeing patients and getting back into the groove of things. He was pulling a sliver from a little girls thumb when Foreman popped his head in.

"I'm meeting Cameron for lunch in the cafeteria, want to join us?" Foreman invited.

Chase didn't look up as he replied, "Take a rain check, I just ate." The lie came out as smoothly as the splinter did. Chase smiled as the little girl gazed at him with adoring eyes and he let her hug him before telling the mother than her daughter was just fine. He watched them go, wrote off on patient file, then headed out for the next one.

It was a good way to pass his first day back. Everything was low key and he was able to just go with the flow. He was actually glad to be getting out on time for once and he was smiling as he grabbed his gear from his locker, but he ended up back in the conference room to fetch his messenger bag. 

House was in his office and he called out for Chase to come in.

After grabbing his stuff, Chase stepped inside House's domain. He felt a bit fidgety, but he was careful to be still and to keep a neutral expression on his face as he faced the other man. "You rang?" Chase drawled.

"So how was your first day back?" House inquired.

"It was fine," Chase replied, with a smile that was meant to be benign. He could feel House's gaze piercing him, looking for chinks in his armor, so to speak. But Chase made sure there weren't any to find.

House nodded after a moment, leaning back in his chair and smiling. "How's Vanessa?" It was a question that was obviously calculated to get a rise out of Chase.

But Chase knew how to play this game, and House wasn't going to win this time. "She's good," he replied. "Thanks for asking." A ripple of disappointment flickered in House's eyes and Chase was hard put not to laugh. "Good night then," he said, before heading out. He was relieved when House let him go. 

Half an hour later Chase was home. He had been looking forward to going on a run but when he entered the house he found it full of people. Vanessa came to greet him with a smile and a kiss on the cheek.

"I've invited a few business acquaintances to dinner," she offered in greeting. "I should have called to warn you, but I wasn't sure if you'd even get home on time."

"It's fine," Chase replied, plastering a polite smile on his face as a few of the guests were watching them. "Just let me go freshen up then I'll be down to join you."

Vanessa looked pleased. "Don't take long," she cautioned, before giving him a kiss and nudging him towards the stairs.

Chase nodded politely at the guests he passed on his way, then he was in the bedroom and shucking his jacket, shirt and tie. A quick splash of a wash up, fresh deodorant, teeth brushed and hair newly combed and he was ready to pull on a fresh shirt and a pullover sweater that Vanessa had gifted him a few weeks ago. An apology gift that he hadn't bothered to wear before now. He knew it would make her happy to see him in it and a happy Vanessa drank less.

A few minutes later and Chase was down stairs being introduced. He played the perfect host, remembering the dinner parties his mum and dad had given before getting divorced. So Chase smiled and conversed and made sure everyone had something to drink and eat at all times. It was a good way to distract everyone from the fact that he drank only water and basically just moved his food around his plate.

It was late, after eleven, by the time the last guest left. Chase was tired and he rather hoped Vanessa was too, but the moment they entered the bedroom she was stripping him and Chase went along with it. He let Vanessa tumble him onto the bed, then he kissed her and brought her to orgasm twice before coming inside her himself. When they lay tangled together in the aftermath, she told him how happy she was.

"Everyone loved you," Vanessa enthused. "I should be jealous you know. Several of the women here tonight were eyeing you like you were something good to eat. Which you are, beautiful. You're totally edible and more delicious than chocolate."

"That's quite the compliment," Chase conceded, knowing her love for chocolate. He smoothed her hair back as she lay with her head on his chest, then whispered, "I'm glad to see you so happy."

Vanessa shifted up so she could kiss him. "You make me happy, beautiful."

Chase nodded then kissed her back. "Mind if we get some sleep? It's been a long day for me."

"Of course." Vanessa drew the blankets over them. "I forgot you're still recovering." She eyed him with a guilty expression. "I shouldn't have made you host with me. You should have been resting."

"I'm fine," Chase assured her. "And I had fun. I just need to sleep now." He closed his eyes to convince her of his words and felt her press a kiss to his forehead. Then she was shifting around to curl up beside him and Chase let his breathing even out so she would think he had fallen asleep. It wasn't much longer before he could tell Vanessa had fallen asleep.

Moving carefully, Chase slid out of bed. He pulled on sweatpants and a sweatshirt, socks and sneakers and headed out of the room. He felt too jittery to actually sleep so he went on a two mile run. When he got back he showered, pulled on boxer-briefs, then brushed his teeth. It was heading towards 2am and he knew he needed to get some sleep only he was too awake now to do so. It was then that Chase remembered the over the counter sleeping pills that Vanessa had stashed in the medicine cabinet. He grabbed them, read the ingredients and the directions then swallowed one down with half a glass of water.

After crawling carefully into bed so as not to disturb Vanessa, Chase curled up on his side and closed his eyes. To his surprise it wasn't long before he drifted off to sleep.

OoO

The next three days fell into a pattern for Chase. They still had no cases so he did clinic duty with rotations in NICU. Vanessa was gone one night on business but Chase kept preoccupied with work and running and sleeping. Admittedly he relied on the sleeping pills to get him to sleep at night, which he probably wouldn't have needed if he stopped running so late, but he liked his runs. One before work and one before bed helped rid him of the jittery feeling that plagued him of late.

Friday morning, his fourth day back, Cuddy cornered Chase the moment he entered the building.

"Time for another session," she reminded him, her tone overly bright.

"Of course," Chase replied, hiding his irritation. He had hoped she'd forgotten about the bloody things. Cuddy was a smart woman so it rather surprised him that she had yet to figure out that he was just playing a game with her. Or maybe she did realize he was simply telling her what she wanted to hear. Maybe it was how she dealt with what had happened. How she justified it to herself. If that was what she needed in order to let him keep working, then so be it. Chase would continue to give it to her.

So he followed her to her office and sat down on the couch. She sat in the chair across from him, a smile on her face.

"How have you been doing, Chase?" Cuddy asked, and there was sincere interest in her eyes and in her tone.

"I'm good," he replied. "It's good to be back to work." He wanted to make that point very clear for them both.

Cuddy heaved a sigh. "How are things at home?" she asked, and her tone was hesitant.

Chase didn't want to go there, but he realized Cuddy was blaming his relationship with Vanessa for what had happened to him. He felt like he should be defensive, but he didn't have the energy to bother. So he gave her the truth she probably didn't want to hear. "Things are good, Dr. Cuddy. Vanessa was never the problem. Like I keep telling you, I just had a bad night and drank too much. If I had known it would make me sick I never would have done it. I don't know what else to say to convince you." He let a bit of pleading seep into her voice, let his eyes widen in a bit of pleading as well. He realized she bought it when a relieved smile curved her lips.

"I believe you, Chase," she said firmly. "I just wanted to make sure, that's all."

"I understand, you have to protect the hospital and all," Chase replied, letting them both off the hook.

Cuddy leaned in, eyes all serious suddenly. "I want to protect you too. I hope you know that."

Chase nodded. He hadn't expected to hear that from her, but he smiled as if he knew. "Thanks for that," he said politely, then he rose to his feet in the hopes of being able to escape. He had help in his endeavor when her phone rang. He watched Cuddy spring up to answer it. She listened a moment then covered the receiver.

"I have to take this," she whispered, nodding at the door. "I think we're done anyway."

"We are," Chase concurred, then he was out the door and heading for the stairs. Halfway there he ran into Wilson.

The other man eyed him with interest. "Another session with Cuddy?" Wilson queried.

Chase nodded, feeling a bit sheepish and a bit guilty. He just wasn't sure why he felt that way. "I hope it's my last. What happened is over and done with already. Time to move past it."

"It hasn't even been two weeks, Chase," Wilson countered, looking surprised. "You have to give yourself time to heal and you have to expect people to need time to adjust."

"Adjust to what?" Chase shot back, feeling suddenly angry and it was an inexplicable anger. "What happened doesn't affect anyone but me!"

Wilson winced at his sharp tone, lowering his own voice to a stage whisper as he replied, "You couldn't be more wrong." He raised a hand to cut Chase off when he would have responded, extending an invitation instead. "We can talk more at lunch if you like. I have a consultation."

Chase let his anger deflate, pulling his mask of detachment more firmly about him. "Lunch sounds good," he agreed. "Where do you want to meet?"

"My office," Wilson replied. "I'll bring sandwiches you bring the soda."

"Noon?" Chase countered. 

Wilson nodded then patted him on the shoulder. "See you then," he said, before turning on his heel and making a run for the elevator.

Chase headed straight for NICU. If they found a case, House could page him. Right now he wanted to be somewhere where he had to keep a sharp focus, that he couldn't be distracted by the chaotic thoughts and emotions inside him.

Thankfully the rest of his day, until noon time, went smoothly. Still no case so Chase worked in NICU till his break, when he headed for Wilson's office. He remembered the sodas and Wilson was waiting for him, offering a turkey sandwich which Chase only picked at while they chatted. Wilson didn't push him to talk about anything in particular and Chase found himself relaxing. Until Wilson started watching him too closely.

"You're supposed to eat the sandwich, not shred it," Wilson commented, as he watched Chase tear the bread apart.

"I guess I'm not hungry," Chase replied, and that was a bit of a fib. He wasn't the least bit hungry. He could see that Wilson wasn't convinced so he stated, "I had a candy bar earlier." As he spoke his right hand slid into his lab coat pocket, fingers curling around the chocolate bar he had bought earlier but hadn't even taken a bite out of. "I'll eat it later," he lied, hand lifting out of his pocket so he could rewrap the mangled sandwich in the crumpled cellophane.

Wilson seemed convinced by Chase's story. "How's it been this week?" he asked. "You look a bit worn out."

Chase shrugged, not really knowing what to say. He didn't like talking about himself and somehow anything he did say would feel like he was revealing too much. "It's been nice being back," he replied after a long moment of silence. "No case so I got to ease into things. It's not like I was gone that long."

"Just don't push yourself too hard too soon," Wilson cautioned. "And don't let House push too hard."

"Like I could stop him," Chase scoffed, but he was grinning as he said it. Talking about House was safe territory. Not that he was feeling all that talkative at the moment anyway. Glancing at his watch, he realized he'd been with Wilson for almost half an hour, so he got up and grabbed his sandwich, ready to make a graceful exit. "Speaking of House, I'd better go check in with him. Thanks for lunch."

Wilson walked him to the door. "Sure. Anytime. You know my door is always open."

Chase nodded, although he figured Wilson had to know he wouldn't take him up on it anymore. His desire to talk before had come at a time when he was feeling overwhelmed. But Chase would let the facade remain that he was open to discussions, that way Wilson would be less likely to push for them. Because a part of Chase still firmly believed that the only reason Wilson was willing to talk to him at all was because of House. Because of their friendship.

Reaching the door, Chase opened it and walked out, moving to the nearest trash can and dumping his sandwich. He then headed for the stairs. He didn't notice House lurking in the shadows watching him go, a thoughtful expression on his face. If he had seen him, he might have worried.

Instead he headed for the conference room to find only Cameron milling about. Still no case to work on so Chase headed back to NICU. He finished out his day there, House free, then headed for the conference room to collect his things. Foreman was there this time, getting ready to leave as well. Chase simply nodded to him as he reached for his messenger bag.

"So how are things?" Foreman asked, out of the blue.

"Um, things are fine, why do you ask?" Chase shot back, because it wasn't as if he and Foreman were friends or anything. They worked well together as colleagues, but that was pretty much it. And sure, in the past they had bonded a bit over teasing Cameron or scoffing at House, but nothing more than that, so Chase was a bit surprised by Foreman's sudden concern. Because he saw actual concern glimmering in the other man's eyes. Which actually bothered him a bit. It made Chase feel like he was suddenly under a microscope or something.

Foreman looked embarrassed, but did what he always did, bluffed his way through it. "Why wouldn't I ask?"

Chase snorted and gave him a reason. "We're not exactly buddies."

"True," Foreman allowed. "But I'd hate to have to break in a new colleague." It was obvious he was teasing, which made Chase relax.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised. "Well, other than home. It's been a long day."

Foreman sighed. "I hear that. I hope we get a case soon. Have a good weekend, man. See you on Monday."

Chase nodded. "See you." He watched Foreman leave then headed out himself. He was anxious to get home. The jittery feeling that plagued him of late was back and Chase wanted to go for a run. It was when he felt the most at peace of late. His run in the morning and the one just before bed.

Once home he was relieved to learn that Vanessa was still out. He quickly changed into his running attire then he was out the door and off. He ran three miles before hitting the shower. By the time he came out, wrapped only in a towel, Vanessa was there. She was horny, pissed and drunk and Chase knew exactly what to do to diffuse her. He seduced her then she turned the tables and the sex was hot and rough and exhausting.

But Chase didn't sleep. He simply waited until Vanessa had drifted off then he got dressed and went for another run. Two hours later he showered again, swallowed a sleeping pill then slid into bed. It was a pattern that was becoming familiar and comforting and Chase embraced it.

He closed his eyes and slept without dreaming.

**THE END...of part 5**


	6. Chapter 6

**REWIND...part 6**

It wasn't one of his better weekends. When Chase came home on Friday it was to find Vanessa already plastered, so he spent most of his night taking care of her. Once she'd finally passed out he'd gone for a long run, four miles in the dark. Coming back he'd showered, watched TV then finally fallen asleep himself about one AM, after giving in and taking a sleeping pill.

When he woke up Saturday morning he felt lethargic. Vanessa was still asleep and Chase knew she'd be out for a while, so he changed into sweat clothes and headed out for another run. He hoped it would help wake him up, shaking off the side effects of the sleeping pill. Another of which was to make him feel jittery, and sometimes it felt like ants were crawling under his skin. But running made him focus, made him ache in a good way. It helped center him and when he was pushing himself as fast and as far as he could, Chase felt like he was finally in control of his life. It was a natural high, but like any rush, it didn't last. He was comforted by the fact that he could find it any time he needed it. That it would be waiting for him.

Even though he was a bit achy and tired when he got back from his run, Chase also felt somewhat euphoric, so he was humming to himself as he entered the house and headed for the stairs. He froze when he heard Vanessa call out his name. She was at the top of the stairs, hair caught up in a messy pony tail, body barely covered in a silky dressing gown and her eyes were glazed and glaring at him as she descended towards him, step by shaky step.

"Where the hell have you been?" she snarled at him.

"I went for a run," Chase replied, and he was a bit surprised by her anger.

Vanessa sped up, almost running down the stairs only to stumble and trip and she was falling without warning, a scream wrenched from her as she tumbled towards the bottom.

Chase moved to catch her before she hit bottom, feeling the way she was shaking and then she was crying out in pain. "Let me look at you," he said, shifting her a bit so he could give her a quick once over. She was gripping her left ankle. "I need to see it," Chase said softly, trying to move her hands out of the way. He could already see that it was swelling. Then he was gripping it firmly and moving it and he knew it was a bad sprain, but he still wanted to get it x-rayed. "We need to get you to the hospital."

"NO!" Vanessa was clinging to him now, desperation winning out over her obvious pain as she raised her tear-stained face to meet his concerned gaze. "I don't want to go. You're a doctor, beautiful. You take care of me."

"You need an x-ray, luv," Chase replied, cupping her face in one hand. "We'll get you dressed then go."

Vanessa was still shaking her head, even as Chase lifted her into his arms. "I won't go to your place, I want to call Adam. He'll meet us at StoneWell general."

Chase knew she was right, that Adam would meet them because he and Vanessa were long time friends, but he still hesitated. "StoneWell is over an hour from here. Princeton is much closer."

"I'm not going there!" Vanessa snapped, then she buried her face in his shoulder, choking back tears. "Please, Robbie. Call Adam for me."

"Fine, I'll call him," Chase agreed. He knew how stubborn Vanessa could be and he also knew that she wanted to go to StoneWell because she didn't want anyone where he worked to see her in her current condition and a part of him was in agreement with her. With his luck, House would be at work today and he'd have something to say about it and Chase didn't want to deal with him. So he took Vanessa upstairs and laid her on the bed, then he called Adam and arranged to meet him at StoneWell.

Vanessa was sobbing quietly. "I need something to take the edge off the pain, beautiful," she beseeched him.

Chase was already in the bathroom, returning with some Tylenol. "Take this, it will help," he told her, ignoring the glare she sent at him. He wasn't going to give her a bottle of vodka, which was what she wanted. "You can't take anything else," he said firmly. "Not if you want pain meds later." Which was what pushed her to give in and take the aspirin. Once it was down, Chase set about getting her dressed. His next step in the plan was to get her an ice pack for the trip to the hospital, but Vanessa had other ideas.

"You'd better shower first, Robbie," she told him. "You're wet and you reek. I won't be seen with you like that."

"I can shower later," he replied, his first concern being for her injury.

Vanessa shook her head at him. "Go shower, I'll be fine." She waved her hand at him with the airiness of a monarch.

Chase caved, as they both knew he would. "Let me get you an ice pack first," he said, running out the door. He was back soon and he settled the pack on her ankle, which he had already elevated on two pillows. "I won't be long," he told her, before dashing into the bathroom. He showered fast, washing his hair in record time and then he was out and toweling dry and pulling on jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. He stuffed his feet into socks and sneakers, combed his fingers through his hair and figured he had a few more seconds so he brushed his teeth. Then he was back by Vanessa's side, checking on her ankle. "How are you doing?" he asked, feeling her flinch at his touch. He could see how much she was hurting by how pale she was.

"I've been better," Vanessa allowed. "I called to have the car brought around. I want Michael to drive us so you can sit with me."

"Sounds like a plan," Chase replied, even as he moved to lift her in his arms again. As he left the room and made his way down the stairs, he called to the housekeeper to bring another ice pack. He got Vanessa settled in the back seat of the car with her leg on his lap, cushioned by a pillow. He applied the new ice pack and told Michael to head out.

It was a long drive and Chase had a whopper of a headache by the time they got there. It really was just over an hour there, but Vanessa was hurting and whiny and angry and Chase did his best to comfort her when she wasn't really in the mood to be comforted. When they reached the entrance to StoneWell, he felt a sense of relief. Adam, Dr. Stewart, must have alerted someone to watch for their arrival because a nurse came out, straight away, with a wheelchair.

Chase got Vanessa settled in it, then followed them inside. He told Michael to head off and get some breakfast and he would call him by cell phone when he was needed. Once inside they were met by Dr. Adam Stewart. He greeted Vanessa, shook Chase's hand, then focused on his patient.

After a quick exam, Adam sent Vanessa off to x-ray, at which point he guided Chase down the hallway and into an elevator. He had procured a private room for Vanessa and figured they could wait there for her return. "So how did she get hurt?" he asked, as they watched the numbers on the wall flash from floor to floor.

"Took a tumble down the stairs," Chase replied.

"She's drunk." Adam didn't mince words.

Chase shrugged. "Hung over more than anything right now."

Adam didn't say anything for a time, then he asked, "How has she been lately?"

"She has her good and her bad days," Chase replied. He was reluctant to say more. He knew that Adam cared about Vanessa. They had been friends for over twenty years and he had seen her at her best and her worst. Since meeting Vanessa, Chase had seen Adam half a dozen times. He had taken an interest in their relationship, telling Chase the first time he met him that he thought he was good for Vanessa, but to watch out for himself because she could mess him up if he wasn't careful. Chase had been rather pissed by that, but hadn't let it show. He'd been more pissed to learn that Adam had known his father. Condolences on his death had been met with chilly politeness, but Adam had let that slide. Chase realized he was grateful to the man for being such a good friend to Vanessa, and for trying to offer friendship to him as well. But it wasn't in Chase's nature to trust people, and he didn't know Adam well enough to want to form a friendship.

"How have you been, Robert?" Adam prompted. "You're looking a bit worn out."

Anger flared inside of Chase but he tamped it down and coolly replied, "I'm good. Are you going to keep her here?"

Adam seemed to realize he had crossed some invisible line, so he returned to physician mode. "I'd like to keep her for a day or two. She's dehydrated, which I'm sure you noticed, so I'd like to pump her full of fluids and flush her out at the same time." At Chase's nod he continued, "And she needs to dry out. It won't be the first time."

"I'm staying with her," Chase stated flatly, so they'd both know what to expect.

"I figured you would so I had a bed brought in for you." As Adam spoke they reached the room and he ushered Chase inside. Sure enough, there was an extra bed in the corner. "It's going to be about an hour before she's brought here, do you want to hang out and wait or wander around a bit?"

Chase considered then realized he was feeling too antsy to sit still. "I'll take a walk," he replied. "Check out your hospital."

Adam grinned and fished a visitor badge out of his pocket. "Wear this and you can go wherever you like, just mention my name if anyone tries to stop you. And given the fact you look like a college student, they might."

"Thanks." Chase accepted the badge and clipped it to the neckline of his t-shirt. "I have my pager." He gave Adam the number. "Can you ring me when you're on your way with Vanessa? I want to be here for her."

"I'll do that," Adam promised. "I'll chat with you when I get the x-ray results." And with that he waved and was out the door.

Chase soon followed, strolling through the hospital corridors. The place was much smaller than PPTH and had a cozy feeling to it. Chase thought he preferred the sterile austerity of his own hospital better. But he rather enjoyed making the rounds and chatting with staff members, most of whom knew who Vanessa was. They seemed to know who he was to her as well and that made Chase feel a bit uncomfortable, even though everyone was extremely pleasant, although a few looked at him with a sympathetic gaze that made him feel angry again.

Just over an hour passed until he was paged, and he hurried back to the room, getting there just as Vanessa was being wheeled in. He greeted her with a smile, which faded when he noticed how pale and groggy she was. Chase kicked into doctor mode and studied the IV bags that were attached to her. Just fluids as Adam had mentioned. A quick check of her pupils and Chase realized she had been given meds. "What did you give her?" he asked the nurse. Then he nodded as she rattled off the list of things. He knew that Vanessa would be pretty much out of it for the next eight to ten hours. The rest would do her good.

Stepping out of the way, Chase let the staff do their job and get Vanessa settled into her bed. Then he moved to sit on the edge of it, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips to brush a kiss against her pale skin.

"Robbie?" she whispered, blinking hard as if to bring him into focus.

"I'm right here," he assured her, squeezing her hand.

Vanessa rolled her head against the pillows. "Tired." she whispered.

Chase brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. "Go to sleep."

"Don't leave me," she begged.

"Never," he promised, and he meant it. He wouldn't leave her. He couldn't. She needed him. And in some strange way he could not define, he knew he needed her as well. "Sleep," he breathed, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. "I'll keep watch over you." He watched her eyes drift closed and listened for her breathing to change. After a few minutes Chase got up, smoothing her blankets then moving to stare out the window. He wished he had a crossword to work on and he decided to ask the nurse if anyone had a paper he could have. They always had crosswords.

On his way out he ran into Adam who updated him on Vanessa's condition. He was more concerned with her blood alcohol levels than her ankle. The ankle was a bad sprain which only time could heal, but they both knew her drinking was a different matter. Chase wasn't going to get into a discussion about it though. He couldn't make Vanessa stop drinking. He had learned that lesson with his mother. All he could do was take care of her, and he would do that. Thanking Adam for his concerns, Chase stepped past him and cornered a nurse. She gave him a paper and a pencil and he returned to Vanessa's room, settling into the chair by her bed.

Two hours later Chase was surprised when another nurse brought him a lunch tray. He thanked her for it, ignoring it for the moment to check on Vanessa. She was still sound asleep. He watched the nurse change out one of her IV bags, then they were alone again. Chase checked the tray and opted for the coffee only. He felt too wound up to eat anything.

The rest of the day passed slowly. Chase paced the hallways at times, between reading through the paper cover to cover. An aide found him a puzzle book and he whiled away a few hours with that. Vanessa woke up briefly, managed to drink some soup, then slept again until the pain got too intense. She vomited the soup but managed to keep some toast down, then she was begging for Chase to get her something to drink. Adam came in just then and asked Chase to step out for a bit while he examined his patient. He almost argued the point but decided to let it go. He wasn't sure he felt up to handling Vanessa at this moment.

Chase had bypassed feeling anxious hours ago. He felt jittery and tense and he wished he could go for a run. He thought maybe he could slip out for a little one after Vanessa went back to sleep. He knew Adam would give her something stronger for the pain so she'd sleep the night through. Something that would also help ease her through her cravings.

"Robert?"

It took him a moment to realize Adam was talking to him. Chase stopped pacing and turned to face the other man. "Did you give her something for the pain?" he asked.

Adam nodded. "She'll sleep the night through."

"Good, she needs the rest," Chase replied. He watched Adam's face go blurry and blinked hard. Chase didn't realize he had zoned out until he came back to awareness, finding himself lying on the extra bed with his legs elevated by pillows. He sat up, pushing away the hand that was pressed to his chest trying to ease him back. Kicking the pillows onto the floor, Chase swung his legs over the side and sat up.

"Drink this." Adam was holding out a glass of orange juice, and his expression was grim.

Chase had to focus on keeping his hand from shaking as he accepted the glass and took a sip. It roiled on his stomach, settling uneasily. But he made himself take another sip. He was not happy at the realization that he had passed out in the hallway.

Adam was watching him closely. "When did you eat last?"

"I forget," Chase replied. "It's been a busy day."

"The nurse said you didn't touch the lunch she brought and that you told her you weren't hungry for dinner," Adam countered. "You have to eat, Robert."

Chase flinched at the sound of his name. He was so used to being just Chase. Too many years with House had done that to him. "Forgive me for being more concerned about Vanessa than food," he shot back, keeping his tone neutral and fighting against the anger that flared within him.

Adam didn't react with anything but concern. "I have gator aid and soup here," he said, pointing to the items on the side table. "Drink both of them and I'll check on you later."

"I'm not your patient," Chase reminded him.

"You are while you're in my hospital," Adam replied. He moved to the table and grabbed the mug of soup, bringing it over and holding it out to Chase. "Drink it."

Chase accepted the mug, knowing it was the fastest way to get Adam out of the room. He faked taking a sip, just letting the soup touch his lips, but made a show of swallowing. "Happy now?" he asked with a straight face.

Adam looked anything but, still he nodded then moved to check on Vanessa before heading for the door. "Get some sleep, Robert," he said kindly.

"I will," Chase replied, letting go of his anger because the man had done nothing to deserve it. But as soon as Adam was gone, Chase was in the bathroom dumping the soup down the toilet. He then splashed cold water on his face and returned to Vanessa's side. He did drink the gator aid and it helped settle his stomach a bit. After a time he did curl up on the bed to doze a bit, always waking up when the nurses came in to check on Vanessa. It irritated him a bit that they always checked on him as well, one going so far as to check out the soup mug and take his pulse until he shook her off.

It was a long night and Chase felt jittery by the time dawn brightened the room. He would have given anything to be able to go for a run, but he settled for walk outside for a few minutes. Last night he had called Michael, sending him home to pack a bag for him since he would be staying with Vanessa. He wished he'd thought to have him add some sweat clothes, but he knew he couldn't slip away for that long anyway.

Returning to the room, Chase watched Vanessa come awake feeling sick and angry and in pain. The next two hours weren't good ones. The nurse wouldn't give her anything for the pain until Adam came to check on her. By the time the doctor appeared, Vanessa was in a state. Chase did what he could to calm her, using distraction to focus her attention on him then soothing her in the ways that he could. But she was still upset when she spotted Adam in the doorway, watching them.

She practically screamed at him as he examined her, then she dissolved into tears. Chase held her through them, whispering to her until the pain medication that Adam finally injected into her IV took effect. Then he eased away, stretching a bit to get the cramps out of his back. 

"Robert, can we talk a bit?" Adam asked, from where he stood in the doorway, watching again.

"Of course." Chase figured it was about Vanessa's condition.

Adam guided him into the hallway. "Let's grab some breakfast while we talk," he suggested.

Chase thought about refusing but he figured it would only earn him a lecture so he followed Adam into the elevator and down to the cafeteria. He grabbed an orange juice and a muffin, noticing that Adam picked the same before they sat down at a corner table.

"You're really good with her," Adam said, opening up the conversation. "You handle her well."

"She's not a horse," Chase protested, as he picked at his muffin. He wasn't the least bit hungry but he knew Adam was watching him so he took a bite.

Adam wasn't smiling, in fact he looked rather grim. "You know your way around alcoholics." It was a statement, not a question.

Chase felt the bit of muffin he'd just swallowed settle into the pit of his stomach like stone. He locked eyes with Adam and told him what he wanted to know. They weren't friends or colleagues and there was no one for the guy to tell, so Chase would share this one thing with him, "My mum drank herself to death."

"I'm sorry," Adam said softly, looking both startled and remorseful.

"Not your fault and it was a long time ago," Chase replied. "So, when do you think I can take Vanessa home?" He wanted out of this place and back to what was familiar and comforting.

Adam considered. "Maybe late this afternoon. We'll see how she is when she wakes up again. She'd probably feel better at home and I know you can take care of her."

Chase nodded. "I think she'd prefer it."

"Now that's settled, eat," Adam ordered, pointing to Chase's muffin. "You don't want to pass out again."

A sharp retort was on the tip of Chase's tongue but he was saved a reply when Adam's pager went off. The older man excused himself and Chase watched him go. The moment he was out of sight, Chase got up and dumped his muffin in the trash, then he returned to the room and stayed with Vanessa. The day passed slowly and when she woke up she was calmer. Still in pain but she had her wits about her and she wanted to go home. Chase was all for that. He had showered after breakfast and had Michael hanging out in the hopes that they could go back. So he hunted down Adam, got him to check Vanessa over then sign her out. Chase thanked him, as did Vanessa, then he wheeled her out, got her settled in the car and was relieved to be on the road heading home.

Once there he got Vanessa settled in bed, gave her a pain pill and she was out in no time. Chase stripped off his jeans, pulled on sweat pants and went for a run. He felt calm and in control when he got back. He checked on Vanessa and she was still sleeping soundly, then he showered, took a sleeping pill and crawled into bed beside her.

He dreamed about his mother but for once she was laughing and happy in his dreams and Chase came awake realizing he hadn't dreamed about his mother being happy in over fifteen years. He glanced at the clock and it was barely dawn but he felt jittery so he pulled on sweats and went for another run. A short one. He had to go to work today. Once he was back he showered, dressed, drank a glass of orange juice and downed a power bar. Then he checked on Vanessa. She woke up when he touched her face.

"You're all dressed for work," she mumbled.

"It's Monday, I have to go back to work," he told her. "But I made arrangements yesterday for an aide to come stay with you so you'll be well taken care of."

Vanessa didn't look happy, but she didn't argue with him either. "Don't work late today," she beseeched him.

Chase kissed her cheek. "I'll try, but you know it doesn't work that way. Do you need a pill now or can you wait?"

"I need one," Vanessa replied. She watched him get it for her then accepted the tablet and a glass of water. She downed it, handed the glass back then reached for his hand. "I wish you could stay with me."

"So do I," Chase replied, hoping she couldn't read the lie. He wanted to go to work and bury himself in a case. He wanted that particular oblivion if only for a little while. He brushed a kiss to her cheek then was off the bed and out the door. He never looked back.

Walking into work felt good. He was the first one there and he made coffee and was working on a crossword when House came it. It surprised Chase a bit that he was early, but he said nothing, just quirking a brow at his boss. House limped over to fix himself some coffee, then he came to the table and sat down.

"Have a good weekend?" House asked, keeping his tone too casual.

"It was fine. Yours?" Chase replied, knowing that House was on a fishing expedition. But he would give up nothing. His personal life was none of House's damn business. He didn't look up from his crossword as he spoke, but he could feel House watching him.

Thumping his cane on the floor, House said, "I was rather bored. Just sat around and watched TV. What did you do?"

Chase shrugged. "Nothing much."

"So...you and Vanessa plan on getting married someday?"

"Hadn't really thought about it." Chase felt a bit uncomfortable now because he really hadn't thought about it. Neither had Vanessa. They had rather mutually agreed not to talk about it.

House looked amused. "Tsk tsk, good Catholic boys shouldn't be living in sin."

Chase didn't take the bait House was dangling. "I don't suppose they should," he allowed. Because he knew he hadn't been a good Catholic boy in a long time. If ever. It was a touchy subject for him and they both knew it so Chase wanted to divert House's attention elsewhere. "Need me to do any clinic hours for you?" he countered.

"You're offering?" House replied, looking surprised.

"Something to do," Chase said, before gnawing on the tip of his pen. One of these days though, he was going to learn to do crosswords with a pencil. Much easier to fix his mistakes that way.

House chuckled softly. "You just don't want to talk about religious stuff. Nice try at distracting me though. A for effort. But I'm not that easy to distract."

Chase knew that better than anyone, because House had all too often become focused on him with an intensity that made Chase feel like a bug pinned under a microscope. "Can I ask you a question?" he countered, hoping that what he was about to say would shock House into leaving him alone.

"Seems only fair," House allowed, gazing at him with a hint of suspicion mingled with curiosity.

"You ever think about marrying Stacy?" Chase blurted out, and he felt almost guilty when House flinched back as if struck. Almost. Because House had interfered in other people's lives, invading their privacy in a way that suggested he felt they didn't have a right to it, so Chase believed he had a right to do this now. To be personal like this in an attempt to protect himself.

Rising from his chair, House limped over to the coffee pot for a refill. "Let me guess," he drawled. "You and Stacy chatted about me during the time she was representing you?"

Chase watched House now, realizing he'd hit a nerve and not all that willing to poke at it. "Not really," he replied. "Mostly she would just mention how irritating you were then she'd be pissy at me because of it."

"Very clever of you then," House conceded, eyeing Chase from his spot at the counter. "Distract me from prodding at you by blindsiding me."

"Seems to work for everyone else," Chase allowed, returning his eyes to his crossword puzzle. He didn't want to think about when he had been blindsided by his father.

House looked ready to say more but Cameron chose this moment to bustle into the room, waving a file.

"We have a case!" she announced.

"About time," House muttered, moving forward to snatch it from her hand. He glanced over it then moved to the whiteboard and started writing. Before he had the symptoms down, Foreman had appeared. "Glad you could join us," House mocked him.

Foreman glared at his boss. "I'm right on time," he shot back.

House glanced at his watch. "Three seconds late," he countered, then he pointed to the board. "Let's get to work, people. I don't pay you to sit around and be bored."

With that they started tossing off possible diagnosis. Chase felt himself focusing on the patient's history, after retrieving the file. He felt intensely driven at the moment, maybe needing to prove something to himself and in the end he was the one who suggested it was something bacterial, supporting his theory with various scenarios and possibilities and in the end House sent them off to do testing. No doubt just to prove him wrong, but Chase didn't care. And as he went to trail his colleagues out the door, House called over his shoulder to him,

"Good work today, Dr. Chase."

Since his father was dead, Chase knew House meant him and it gave him pause for a moment. He stood in the doorway and felt oddly pleased, not wanting to let suspicion cloud the moment. Not wanting to ruin it either so he stepped out quickly, not allowing House a chance to take it back. At least not at this moment. A smile curved his mouth as Chase went off to meet with the patient. And when it turned out at the end of the day that he had been right about the diagnosis, not that there weren't the usual complications along the way, he still felt satisfied and he was still smiling when he headed out the door before midnight.

When Chase got home the aide was gone. He was a bit upset because he had arranged for her to be replaced if he worked late, but Vanessa told him she had sent the new girl home. "How are you feeling?" he asked, moving to check on her ankle. The swelling was much better but it was a bit black and blue now.

"I'm better now that you're home," she replied, drawing him up to her then down for a kiss. "I haven't had a drink all day, beautiful," Vanessa whispered against his mouth. "Aren't you proud of me?"

"Very," Chase replied, knowing it was what she needed to hear. He knew she wasn't drinking because no one would bring her the bottle and that she was wise enough to know she couldn't drink with her pain meds, but he was all for positive reinforcement.

Vanessa's fingers were busy unbuttoning his shirt. "I'm lonely, Robbie. Distract me," she beseeched him.

He was willing to do that, if only for his own distraction. He didn't want to think about bad things, negative things, he wanted to wallow in how good he felt at this moment, wrapping himself up in positive things. So he helped her strip off his shirt and tie and then he stripped off the rest of his clothes before helping her out of hers. Being careful of her ankle, Chase kissed his way down Vanessa's body, bringing her to orgasm before slipping inside her and finding his own completion. In the aftermath he held her and let himself believe that his life could be this way. The closest thing to perfect he'd ever known.

But it couldn't last, and within half an hour of dozing off he dreamed about his mother and the vivid memory of her death sent him into the bathroom, retching. He was trembling and felt achy when he was done. He brushed his teeth then pulled on sweat clothes and headed out the door. He ran until his legs and his lungs burned, then he stepped into the shower and scrubbed his skin until it was raw.

He wondered why he didn't feel clean as he asked God for forgiveness for his sins.

**THE END...of part 6**


	7. Chapter 7

**REWIND...part 7**

Because of her pain meds, Vanessa didn't drink for a week. She had her moody times but Chase was used to dealing with those and they felt comfortingly familiar. When he wasn't working, he was spending time with Vanessa, making love with her, or just talking. Never about the future though, it was as if both of them were afraid to think about it. When he wasn't working or sleeping or such, Chase went running. He even started running during his lunch breaks. More like a short but fast sprint around the hospital grounds, then zipping into the locker room to shower and change. But it gave him a fix of sorts that kept him energized for the day.

Life was surprisingly good at the moment which, not surprisingly, couldn't last. Of course it was House who had to start picking at it, as if Chase's personal life was a nearly healed wound that House just couldn't resist ripping the scab off of.

"Forget your blow dryer?" was his comment, when Chase rushed into the conference room after his shower. "If you're going to have afternoon nookie, you should at least try not to look like you've been busy. If you get my drift. So, who are you cheating on Vanessa with? Someone in the children's ward?"

It would have been so easy to snap at House, but Chase didn't want to lose the rush the run had given him so he simply shrugged as he moved to the counter to pour himself a cup of coffee.

Foreman seemed to feel the need to get in on the act a bit. "You need a haircut, man. Either that or buy better gel."

"So says the bald guy," Chase countered.

"Hey!" Foreman protested. "I chose to be chrome. I do have hair. I just don't feel the need to display it."

Chase smirked at him. "Your point being?" he prompted, because keeping word play going with Foreman was a lot less stressful than letting House in on it.

But House wasn't about to be pushed out of the fun. "So, are you running from something or someone?" he prompted.

"I don't know what you mean," Chase replied, although he was surprised that House had decided to cut through the snark. He could feel the blue eyes focused on him with laser intensity and he had to resist the urge to squirm.

"You've been running around the hospital every day," House stated. "I haven't seen anyone chasing you." As he spoke he moved to get himself a cup of coffee, but making sure to ask who made it before he poured. Cameron glared at him when he said he was glad it wasn't hers.

Chase sat down at the conference table, eyes glued to the liquid in his mug. "I like to run," he said quietly. "It helps me think." And he said that knowing House would find reason to make fun of him. To taunt him with how little thinking he actually did and remind him he was nothing but a moron. Comments that Chase was familiar with. Taunts that were almost like caring. Almost.

But House didn't rise to the bait, instead he limped over to the table and set his mug down carefully. He then eyed Chase for a moment before moving to the white board. "New case," he said, then he picked up a marker and wrote down the symptoms.

An hour later Chase was running tests. He got the results and was heading back to House's office to deliver them when Cuddy intercepted him. "Did you need something?" Chase queried, being polite.

"It's been over a week since we last talked," she reminded him.

"I thought we were done with that." Chase felt irritation flare up. He didn't need to talk to her, never did. He thought she'd finally understood that.

Cuddy looked uncomfortable, but she locked eyes with him as she stated, "I think it would be a good idea to keep going with them for a while."

Chase wasn't interested in that and he was going to make that clear to her. "Why?" he shot back, seeing her surprised look. But he didn't give her a chance to reply before making his case. "I haven't done anything wrong, have I?" Another rhetorical question. "No one's complained about me. My life is back on track and I'm happy. Isn't that enough for you?"

"I just, I want to make sure you're okay," Cuddy replied, looking a bit uncertain.

"I'm okay," Chase said firmly. "I appreciate everything you've done to help me. Your support helped a lot." He was laying on the charm now, offering the smile that he knew very few could resist. Letting his boyishness show and he could see she was buying into it, letting herself be charmed.

Smiling back at him, Cuddy nodded. "All right, we'll let it go for now. But if you need to talk, my door is open anytime. Or call me if you need to."

Chase nodded. "Thank you," he replied, solemnly. "I'll keep that in mind. Now, I really need to deliver these test results to House." He held up the folder he was holding.

"Go on," Cuddy said, smirking. "Wouldn't want to keep House waiting." There was a sense of world suffering in her tone before she turned on her heel and clacked off down the hallway.

"No, wouldn't want to do that," Chase muttered to himself, before jogging towards the stairs.

OoO

The test results from all of them proved annoyingly inconclusive. So House had to guess at what the problem was and had them treating what they could. But the results were disastrous and the patient coded twice on them within an hour. Chase managed to get her stabilized, but he ended up staying in the room to keep an eye on her monitors and on her, looking for any minute reaction that signaled another possible code. He was hoping for some sign of improvement, but nothing was forthcoming.

House came by once, standing next to the patient's bed, eyes running over her and the monitors. He spouted some questions at Chase, nodded at the answers he got then limped off.

Cameron and Foreman came by at one point. Foreman offered to stay with the patient while Chase went with Cameron to grab some supper. He turned them down but did ask them to stick around for a moment while he ran outside to give Vanessa a call. She wasn't happy that he wouldn't be home tonight, yet she was strangely calm about it at the same time. Chase promised to be home as soon as he could then hung up.

He had just gotten back to the patient's room when she coded again. He snapped out orders to Cameron and Foreman as they worked smoothly together. But there was nothing he could do. The woman's heart shut down and Chase called the time of death.

When Foreman offered to tell the family, Chase brushed past him. "I'll do it," he said curtly, striding off down the hallway.

It was difficult delivering bad news. All the more so this time because the woman's family was big and all huddled together. They looked at him with hope shining in their eyes and Chase told them the bad news, watching hope fade to despair. Hearing the mother keening her denial, the sister and eldest daughter start weeping. The father walked away and the husband just glared at Chase.

"You let her die!" He screamed at him. "You're supposed to save her!"

"There was nothing we could do," Chase replied, his tone carefully modulated. He didn't look away from the other man's anger, knowing it wasn't really directed at him. And like clockwork the anger mutated into grief and the man reached for his young son and hugged him as he sobbed.

Chase turned and walked away. There was nothing more he could do now. He signed off on the paper work then headed for the locker room. He changed into sweats and was out the door and heading for the exit when Cameron cut him off.

"You okay?" she asked, her eyes bright with concern.

"I'm fine," Chase replied, wishing he could just shove past her. But she continued to block his way and when her hand touched his shoulder he flinched.

Cameron took her hand back and looked concerned. "You're awfully pale, Chase."

He locked eyes with her and repeated, "I'm fine. Patients die all the time." It was something an Intensivist had to get used too. He had accepted the reality of that a long time ago.

"I know that!" Cameron snapped, no doubt because her inability to deal with the aftermath of a patient's death was a sore spot for her. It was her Achilles' heel. Realizing her anger, Cameron huffed a calming breath, put on a smile and said, "It's just that you've been through a lot lately and after being ill-"

"I wasn't ill!" It was Chase's turn to snap, and regret it instantly. He scrubbed a hand over his face and apologized. "Sorry. Look, I'm a bit out of sorts is all. I'm gonna go run for a bit. I'm fine, really." He patted her shoulder to reassure her then brushed past her for the door.

Cameron followed him. "It's dark out, Chase. It's late and we're all tired. You should go home."

He wanted to argue with her but suddenly felt too worn out to bother. And since it was obvious she wasn't going to drop it, he nodded. "You're right, it's late." He gave her a tired smile and turned towards the elevators. "I'm gonna change then head out. See you tomorrow."

"Yeah, tomorrow." Cameron smiled, looking a bit hesitant, but then she turned and walked out the door.

The moment she was gone, Chase headed for the stairs. He wanted to run but he settled for hitting the stairwell for a few passes, then taking a long, hot, shower. He didn't have any more sets of clean clothes so he pulled on a set of scrubs then headed for the conference room. It was dark so he flipped on the lights. After a moment he went to the bookshelf in the corner and pulled down a heavy volume. He wasn't ready to go home so he sat down at the table, uncaring of what book he had, and started to read.

House found him there maybe two hours later. He limped over to the table and tugged the book away. "Go home," he stated, and his tone made it clear he meant it as an order.

"Soon," Chase replied, because he was off hours and House couldn't dictate everything in his life. He tried to get the book back but when House refused to give it up, Chase shrugged and stood up. He moved back to the bookshelf and took another volume down.

"Vanessa will wonder where you are and what you're doing," House said, as he cut Chase off from returning to the table and confiscated the new book from him.

Chase glared at him. "Not your concern." Keeping his tone even was hard. No one could get him riled up the way House could, yet Chase had perfected being non reactive. At least to a point. He had learned early on that House got tired of playing with you if you didn't respond accordingly.

Eyeing Chase through a narrowed gaze, House asked, "So how's it going with the old girl? Are their wedding bells in the future? You can ask Wilson for advice on that stuff."

"I'll let you know when it becomes any of your business," Chase drawled. He moved stiffly around House, feeling tense and uptight again. Feeling anxiety dancing under his skin, making him yearn to scratch until there were bloody grooves in his flesh. He went back to the bookcase and, pointedly, retrieved yet another volume." He got it all the way back to the table before House intervened.

"It wasn't your fault she died," he said softly.

Chase froze, feeling his heart thud hard against his chest. Panic flare through him like a flash flood, making him feel like he'd been caught out in some dirty little secret. But he made himself relax, made his expression neutral and his tone carefully modulated as he replied, "I know that."

House moved to stand in front of him, his stance confrontational. "Do you?" he prompted.

"Why are you still here?" Chase countered. He was good at deflection. Could have taught a course on it even. But House was never one to follow the rules. He kept invading Chase's personal space until he turned away and paced over to the windows.

"I like the atmosphere," House shot back, limping over to follow him.

Chase glared at him.

House smirked in return then said, "Go home, and don't come back until you get some sleep. You're dead on your feet and I doubt Cuddy would be happy with a zombie practicing medicine."

"I'm doing my job!" Chase snapped, because House had just stomped on his last nerve.

"You're going through the motions and getting lucky," House replied. "I don't want to see you back here for the next two days. Comprende?"

Chase thought about arguing but instead he simply whispered, "Si, senor," then turned and made his way out the door.

He went home. Vanessa was dead asleep so he changed into sweats and went for a run. He lost track of time but he was shaking with fatigue by the time he got back, every muscle in his body ached, but he welcomed the burn. Stumbling into the bathroom, Chase showered then he went to the kitchen for a bottle of gator aid. He chugged half of it down, along with a sleeping pill, then he crawled into bed. He slept without dreaming.

He was up at six am, wishing he had time for another run, but somehow doubting he'd actually get very far this morning. He felt stiff and sore, but got up anyway. He dressed for work, pressed a kiss to Vanessa's cheek, then headed out. By seven he had signed in for a NICU rotation and went straight to work.

How many hours passed, Chase didn't know, but suddenly House was there, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him out into the corridor. Chase pulled away, anger flaring. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, glaring at House.

"I told you to go home and stay there till you got some sleep!" House snapped back, and anger was burning in his blue eyes.

"I slept!" Chase shot back, then he turned sharply on his heel with the intention of heading back into the unit, but found himself hauled around and practically slammed into the wall. His shoulder bone hit hard and he winced, knowing he was going to have a bruise for that one.

House seemed unaware of having caused any pain as he leaned into Chase. "Go home!" he repeated, and the intensity in his voice was almost viable.

Chase held House's glare, shaking his head. "No," he said quietly. "I have work to do."

"Apparently you've forgotten that you work for me," House countered, not moving from his stance in front of Chase. "I'm your boss and I gave you a direct order. Go...home."

"Sorry, but I'm not working for you today," Chase replied, feeling a bit smug. "I'm working for Cuddy, she's short staffed, which means she knows I'm here so take it up with her!" He issued the challenge because he doubted House would bother.

But House never did anything expected of him. "Go home now or you're fired," he announced, and he was smiling when he said it.

Chase resisted the urge to throw a punch at House, thereby wiping away the smug little smirk. But he was still angry as he shot back, "You can't do that!"

"Sure I can," House drawled. "And we both know I will. You've worked so hard to keep your job, Chase. Is it worth losing over something so trivial as your own stupidity? Go home, get some sleep, come back in two days. Easy enough instructions."

"Why are you doing this?" Chase demanded. He was doing his job and it irritated him to know end that House was trying to control him over this.

House heaved a dramatic sigh, stepping back out of Chase's personal space and scrubbing a hand over his face. "Have you looked in the mirror lately, Goldilocks? You look like shit warmed over, which is saying something because you're usually such a pretty little thing and all."

Chase gritted his teeth against replying, but it came out anyway. "God, you're such a bastard!"

"Amen, brother," House replied, a cold smile curving his thin lips. "Here's the thing. You can read those journals you were so enamored with last night, or bury yourself here with a bunch of sick babies. You can try to do penance by sleeping with a drunk woman old enough to be your mother, but you can't change the past. And you won't find the answers to any of your questions by looking for them in all the wrong places."

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Chase snarled, and he felt sick and shaken all of a sudden, because House was talking about things he didn't know about. Things he couldn't know about. He was crossing the line again and it terrified Chase.

House looked almost sorry, almost, but his tone was gruff as he repeated, "Go home."

Chase felt desperate, almost willing to clutch at House's arm and plead with him. Or go down on bended knee and beg. Instead he stood stiffly and countered, "Cuddy needs me here."

"I'll smooth things over with her," House replied, in a manner that suggested he had already done so. "Go home." The tone of his words left no room for argument.

So Chase did what he always did. Which was whatever House told him to do. He yanked off the paper gown he was wearing, shoving it into a nearby bin before walking away. By the time he reached his locker he was shaking. He needed to go for a run. So he grabbed his things, not bothering to change out of his scrubs, and headed for home.

OoO

Surprisingly, Vanessa was gone when he got home. She had left him a note stating that she had decided to give the people in her office something to laugh about, by watching her try to maneuver about on the crutches Chase had gotten her a few days ago. Crutches she had been disinclined to use. Chase realized she must have finally gotten bored at home. Vanessa did so love to be entertained, and she needed people around her to do that.

He was glad to be alone. Since he would only have to change out of them anyway and they were comfortable enough, Chase kept his scrubs on to go for his run. He didn't go nearly as far as he had intended. Maybe House was right and he was exhausted. The fact that he had stumbled twice and nearly fallen during his run was somewhat of a clue. So he went home, showered, ate a slice of toast and half a banana then took two sleeping pills with some gator aid. As tired as Chase's body was, his mind was refusing to shut down and he knew if he didn't sleep deeply, then he would dream.

Maybe part of the reason he had stumbled so often on his run was the fact that his mind was filled with memories he wished he could simply delete from his brain. Too many images of patients who had died. The image of his mother lying in her coffin. The memory of his father the last time Chase had seen him. That still haunted him. The fact that his own father hadn't felt Chase deserved to know he was dying. That he had cared so little he'd left it up to his second wife to call Chase and deliver the news as if she were inviting him to a party or something. He felt the sting of guilt for not having gone to the funeral, but since his father hadn't cared about anything Chase did while he was alive, he figured his father wouldn't have cared if he bothered to show up at his funeral.

Scrubbing at his forehead, wanting to ease the relentless ache that pounded there, Chase headed for bed. He had pulled on a pair of boxer briefs and slid under the covers and closed his eyes. He counted backwards in his head until the pills took effect, then he drifted off to oblivion.

He had a peripheral awareness of movement and sound at times. Vanessa's voice in his ear and soft hands moving over his face. He wasn't sure if he responded to it or not and let himself remain cocooned in the warm darkness of slumber. He came awake due to the need to pee and after relieving himself he glanced at his watch. Fourteen hours had passed. It was barely 3am and Vanessa was asleep in the bed so Chase pulled on sweats and went for a run. He felt energized by the time he returned, his focus sharpened again. He showered, had a slice of toast and a glass of orange juice and when he came back into the bedroom, Vanessa was awake. He moved to sit beside her.

"What time is it?" she asked, pushing her hair out of her eyes.

"Early," Chase replied. "You should go back to sleep."

Vanessa pulled him down for a kiss." I tried to wake you last night but you were dead to the world. Are you feeling okay, Robbie?"

He nipped at her lower lip then nodded. "I'm fine. I was just a bit tired is all, but I think I made up for it last night."

"I found the pills you've been taking," Vanessa blurted out. "You didn't use to need them."

"I just have a lot on my mind of late, it's nothing to worry about," he assured her. "So, how's the ankle doing?" As he spoke he pushed the covers back and did a check for himself. He was glad when she let it distract her.

Wincing a bit, Vanessa replied, "It's better. Still sore but...better." She whimpered in a different way when he kissed the arch of her good foot. "I'm not feeling all that sleepy all of a sudden," she purred.

Chase let her pull him down with her. He made love to her then left her sleeping while he showered again and got dressed for work. But to cover himself he called House, telling him how he'd slept for fourteen hours and he was good to come back to work. House told him no and hung up on him. Chase debated going in anyway but decided it wasn't worth the risk. He didn't want to lose his job and House was just enough of an asshole to fire him on principle.

Since there was nothing else to do, and he felt his rush of before deflating and leaving him feeling a bit lethargic, Chase got undressed and crawled into bed. He never heard Vanessa's alarm go off. Never felt her kiss him goodbye as she went off to work. He slept another ten hours, woke up from a nightmare about his father dying in front of him at PPTH, then flew into the bathroom to retch.

He felt shaky and anxious and his head was aching. He knew what he needed to do to feel better. After brushing his teeth he went for a run. It woke him up, especially since he pushed himself hard. After a shower and some toast and fruit, Chase popped in a movie and amused himself until Vanessa returned. They had dinner, made love and went to bed. Once she was asleep he got up for a run, took his shower, drank some gator aid and decided to forgo the sleeping pill. He spent the next few hours watching mindless cartoons on TV, until drifting off to sleep about 2am. He slept in a bit too long and had to shorten his run to little more than a sprint around the block, but he felt good as he kissed Vanessa goodbye and headed off to work.

The first person Chase ran into at the Hospital was Cuddy. She called to him and he plastered a smile on his face as he turned to greet her. "Good morning," Chase said, making pleasantries.

"Good morning, are you feeling better?" Cuddy queried, her eyes roving over him.

"I'm feeling fine," Chase replied, then it hit him why she asked. "House told you I was sick?"

Cuddy made a face, like someone who'd gotten caught with their hand in the cookie jar. "He just said you were under the weather a bit and he made you take some time off. For House to do that I figured you had to be pretty sick."

Chase shook his head, anger flaring up but he squelched it. It wasn't Cuddy he was pissed at anyway. "I was a bit tired, that's all."

"Well good." Cuddy seemed ready to accept him at his word. She thrust a file at him. "Take this to House, would you? New case." With that she turned on her heel and walked away.

"Sure," Chase muttered, even though she was already out of ear shot. He headed for the stairs and made a pit stop at the locker room to drop off his things. Then he went to the conference room and, as always, he was the first one in. Chase made coffee, making it strong but not overly so in deference to Cameron, who was the only one who would complain about it. Then he settled into a chair and read the file. By the time House came in with Foreman and Cameron trailing behind him, Chase had the patient's symptoms written on the whiteboard and was settled back in his chair enjoying his coffee.

House, of course, was the first to notice the whiteboard. His eyes then fell on the blue file folder, then they lifted to focus on Chase. "Trying to score points with the teacher?" he taunted.

Chase shrugged. "Just doing my job." He said nothing more as House studied him and Chase knew what he was looking for. Signs of exhaustion or other symptoms he could use against him. Only there were none and Chase took satisfaction in that fact. Enough so to offer House a smug grin.

"Sounds like a plan," House finally conceded. He limped over to the counter and poured himself some coffee, then he moved to the whiteboard and studied it. He then fired questions at Chase, about the patient's age and familial relations and prior sicknesses and such, all of which Chase replied to without hesitation.

They left Foreman and Cameron scrambling to catch up. By which time House was already asking for possible diagnosis and Chase already had a handful in mind. He felt on top of his game today and he was willing to challenge House in a way he normally wouldn't have. He knew House was aware of what he was doing and, oddly enough, he seemed to accept it.

After a time House sent them each off to run various tests. Chase headed out the door, Cameron catching up to him and asking how he was doing. Chase found the patience to tell her he was fine, and thanked her for asking, which served in his favor because it got her off his back. Now he was beginning to understand just how to play the game, and he was determined to play to win.

OoO

After his ducklings had left, House headed for Wilson's office. He didn't bother knocking on the door, and grinned when Wilson looked up at him, glaring in annoyance. "What?" House stated. "It's not like your busy or anything." He closed the door behind him then limped over to the closest chair and sat down.

Wilson set aside the book he had been reading. "Did you want something in particular or is this just a limp by hassle?"

"Lame," House replied to Wilson's attempt at humor. "I'm actually here to pick your brain. More or less."

"Is this about a case?" Wilson prompted.

House made a face. "Not exactly." He never had been one for going into detail. Instead he thumped his cane on the floor for dramatic effect then asked, "So how do you think Chase is doing?"

Wilson looked surprised. "He seems fine, why? Is something wrong?"

"I'm asking you," House pointed out, feeling a bit irritated. He hated it when Wilson didn't keep up with him.

"I wouldn't know," Wilson replied. "We haven't talked in a while."

House was surprised to hear that. "Had a falling out, did you?"

With an eye roll that nearly popped them out of their sockets, Wilson deadpanned, "We broke up."

"I'm being serious here," House countered, because he was, although he hoped he wasn't giving too much away. Chase was his concern only so far in that he worked for him and he needed his fellows to be on top of their game. House believed that Chase could be a brilliant doctor some day, maybe even follow in his own footsteps so to speak. If only he could learn to focus and to apply himself to his work. But that wasn't his concern at the moment exactly. So he focused back on Wilson. Who was watching House a bit too intently.

"Obviously you think something is wrong with him," Wilson countered. "Is it affecting his work?"

House sighed. "You see, that's the thing. He's become more focused lately. Very intense in fact. Almost...driven."

Wilson frowned, looking confused. "And that's a bad thing?"

"No, and if we were talking about someone other than Chase I'd be all happy and giddy," House shot back. He pushed up to his feet and began to pace, feeling disgruntled. He had asked a simple question and he wanted Wilson to give him a simple answer.

"Have you talked to him?" Wilson asked. "You know...asked him about it? Just a suggestion," he added, hiding a bit of a smirk when House turned and glared at him.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, House moved to confront his friend. "Talking to him would be cheating." He had more to say but his pager went off. It was Cameron calling him to the labs. Which meant it was time to focus on the patient. House reminded himself that Chase was a big boy and could take care of himself anyway. But he was muttering to himself as he headed out the door.

OoO

It was a long day, but a mostly satisfying one for Chase. They had been too busy with the patient for him to take a run at lunch and he was feeling a bit jittery as he collected his things. On the way out he did an about face for the stairs so he could avoid Cameron, and his path took him past the Chapel.

Chase paused, staring through the doorway at the people scattered about inside. Lost souls, seeking God's forgiveness for whatever sins they perceived they had committed. And mixed in were the faithful who believed that a simple prayer might save those they loved and were afraid to lose. He both envied them and hated them.

Without meaning too, Chase found himself standing inside the doorway. But he didn't belong here, he never had. Backpedaling out, he felt panic flare inside him and he quelled it as best he could. His pager went off, making him jump a bit, and he was almost relieved that it was Vanessa.

Turning his back on the Chapel, Chase walked away. Heading back to where he belonged.

**THE END...of part 7**


	8. Chapter 8

**REWIND...part 8**

Nearly a week skittered by and Chase figured out various ways to keep everyone off his back. He allowed Cameron to fuss over him every morning, simply smiling in reaction and thanking her. By day four she had mostly backed off. Foreman never bothered him anyway, so that one was easy. Cuddy had finally gotten off his back and House was simply House. He tormented Chase, needled him, taunted him and was downright nasty to him at times, all of which felt comfortably familiar. Although there were times when House would watch Chase with an intensity that seemed to sear his skin. That's when he would find something to do, elsewhere.

Wilson, however, seemed to feel a sudden need to bond with Chase. At unexpected times he would suddenly appear. Like when Chase would take a quick break in the cafeteria. Since he ran during lunch it meant he skipped eating, so a couple of hours later he would dash off for some fruit and Gatorade and find Wilson sitting down at his table in the corner. Wanting to chat.

Today he was all about relationships.

"I think I need to go into therapy," Wilson blurted out, as he fiddled with his coffee cup.

"Therapy?" Chase echoed, feeling one eyebrow rise up to meet his bangs. "For what?" At least the conversation was geared away from himself and he was actually a bit curious at this point. Although the whole thing was probably some kind of trap, because Chase was beginning to suspect that, whatever it was Wilson was doing by dogging him of late, House was behind it in some way. Maybe he was just being paranoid, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing to be around House.

Wilson sighed. "I met this woman, a blond. She's a dancer."

Chase felt both eyebrows climb. "What kind of dancer?"

"Exotic." Wilson sighed then took a sip of his coffee, making a face at it.

"Exotic," Chase repeated, and he was glad he wasn't drinking something because he most definitely would have choked. At Wilson's nod he prompted, "So how did you meet her?" What he really wanted to know was where, because he really couldn't picture Wilson at a strip club.

Scrubbing a hand over a face that looked gray with fatigue, Wilson replied, "At the bank."

Chase was now thoroughly confused. "She was dancing at the bank?"

"No...no no!" Wilson looked alarmed and waved his hands in denial. "She works at the bank as a clerk. By day. She dances at night. She's working on her PhD in Electrical Engineering."

"That's rather impressive," Chase replied. "So...she dances to make money for school?" It was a rather obvious guess.

Wilson nodded. "Right. But she really likes the dancing, prefers it to the bank job and makes three times as much money at it."

Chase thought that made sense. "So...what's the problem? Is she married already?"

"Recently divorced." Wilson looked glum.

"Sounds like you have a lot in common." That came out before Chase could stop it and he winced at the awkward silence that filled up between them.

Then Wilson looked up and smiled. "You sound just like House."

Chase wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. But one thing for certain, he was still confused about this entire conversation. "Why are you telling me all this?" he queried, with genuine interest in the reply.

"Because I'm evoking the confidentiality clause I think we have going between us," Wilson replied. "I keep your privacy, you keep mine."

"So you haven't told House about the new woman in your life," Chase said, as comprehension dawned.

Wilson shook his head, looking miserable. "The thing is, I really like her. She's independent and funny and beautiful. She's not interested in getting married again, but she's all for a serious relationship."

Chase couldn't help but be amused, although he was a bit uncomfortable being privy to what he considered Wilson's private life. "Well, she might be the perfect woman for you then," he stated. "I mean, keep you from running off and getting married again." And that might have been a rather uncouth thing to say, but Chase never pretended to be up on social graces or form and policy. He was a mess when it came to how relationships worked. Mainly because people could never be trusted to do what they were supposed to do. Himself included.

"Good point," Wilson conceded. He pushed aside his coffee cup, locked eyes with Chase and asked, "How are things with you?"

"Fine." Standard answer and Chase would stick to it. He knew, however, that Wilson was asking about him and Vanessa and now he was pretty certain House was behind it. Grabbing his bottle of Gatorade, Chase rose from his seat. "Break's over," he announced. "It was nice chatting with you." That said, he turned and walked away, but he could feel Wilson watching him go.

OoO

Because nothing good ever lasts, Chase wasn't all that surprised when Vanessa went back to drinking heavily. She was finally off her prescription pain killers and that very night she wanted to celebrate with dinner and her favorite bottle of wine. Two of them, in fact. Chase had a hell of a time getting her into bed that night and he was grateful that she passed out on him before she could get his shirt unbuttoned.

Stripping it off, he changed into running clothes and hit the road. He ran for over an hour, coming back and grabbing a banana and chugging down some Gatorade before checking on Vanessa then hitting the shower. He swallowed a sleeping pill, crawled into bed, took a moment to set the alarm a bit earlier than usual so he could take a longer run before work, then he closed his eyes and recited prayers in his head until he fell asleep.

Morning was the usual routine, only his run was delayed when Vanessa woke up puking. Chase got her into the bathroom before she hurled, holding her hair back until she was done then guiding her over to the sink to rinse her mouth. He ended up having to steady her while she relieved her bladder, then he helped her strip off her sweat soaked night shirt to trade it for one that was clean and dry. She was staggering by the time they exited the bathroom and he ended up carrying her back to bed.

"Don't leave me, Robbie," Vanessa pleaded, gripping his forearm with both hands.

"I have to go to work," Chase replied, even as he stretched out on top of the covers. "But I'll lay with you for a moment." Luckily it didn't take her long to fall back to sleep, and Chase slipped away from her, changed into running clothes and headed out.

He had to cut his run a bit short, and his stomach felt off so he only managed two bites of his toast before hitting the shower. He got dressed, kissed a sleeping Vanessa on the cheek then paused at the corner desk to leave her a note that he'd be home late. Case or not, Chase didn't feel up to dealing with her drinking tonight.

Or the next night. He got lucky that time, in that he didn't have to make up an excuse for Vanessa. Their patient coded and Chase spent the night with her in ICU. By the time he came home the next morning, having been sent off by House with instructions not to come back until he slept for at least eight hours, Vanessa was already gone.

Chase didn't sleep for eight hours, but a sleeping pill gave him a decent six. He went for a run, showered then returned to work. House had already figured out what was wrong with their patient and she was being treated so there was nothing for Chase to do. No new case. To keep himself busy he offered to do House's clinic hours. After those were done he went to Cuddy and volunteered for a half shift in ICU. She was understaffed and happily accepted.

And so went the pattern of Chase's days for the next week. With it he was able to justify avoiding Vanessa. She called him, of course, paging him several times a day and sounding drunk pretty much every time he called her back. She was stinking drunk and waiting for him Sunday night. Not his usual work day but Chase had done a shift in NICU just to have a reason not to be home.

"Who is she?" Vanessa demanded, the moment he walked in the door. She had been sitting on the bottom step of the stairs, waiting for him, a bottle of vodka, mostly empty, clutched in one hand.

"Who are you talking about?" Chase replied, evening out his tone so that it was soft and soothing. He didn't blow her off because he knew that never worked with a drunk. He had to shift himself into neutral to keep her from getting more riled up and out of control. He was a pro at doing that, thanks to his mother.

Vanessa got up, limping towards him. "That bitch you're sleeping with!" she spat. "What's her name? Is she pretty?"

Chase didn't react when she got in his face. If he let her rant a bit and just kept calm himself, she would eventually wind down. "There's no woman," he said softly. "No one but you."

"LIAR!" Vanessa slapped him hard across the face. Hard enough to jerk his head back.

"I'm not lying," Chase replied, not letting the slap affect him. He simply looked at her and waited.

Vanessa took another swig of Vodka. "I'm not an idiot!" She snarled. "I bet she's younger, isn't she? Is she blond? A brunette?"

Chase shook his head. "There's no one," he repeated. "I was working."

"It's Sunday!" Vanessa shook a finger at him. "You don't work on Sundays!"

"I do sometimes," Chase reminded her, because his schedule was based more on patient needs than anything else. And it wasn't as if he was lying to Vanessa. She didn't need to know that he wanted time away from her. It wasn't about her anyway, it was about what he needed to deal with things. He just wasn't overly clear about what it was he needed to deal with, nor did he want to dwell on it.

Vanessa stared at him, eyes wide and glassy and shimmering with disbelief. "You bastard!" She cried, then she was swinging the vodka bottle at his head.

Instinct gave Chase fast reflexes. Instinct and past experience, so he threw up his left arm to block the hit and the blunt end of the bottle nailed him in the forearm. Hard enough to make him hiss in pain, but he still had enough wits about him to grab the bottle from Vanessa with his good hand. The left hand felt numb from where the bottle connected with the bone. Something similar to hitting your funny bone and feeling pins and needles for a bit.

"Robbie...oh my god! I'm so sorry!" Vanessa seemed to realize what she had done and she released the bottle to him without a fight. She then reached for his arm, but backed off when he flinched away from her.

"It's okay," Chase told her, setting the vodka bottle down and moving to her when she collapsed to her knees and began rocking and crying. He hugged her to him with his good arm, cradling the sore arm to his chest. "Let's get you to bed, okay?" He spoke softly and soothingly, as one might to a terrified animal. He was grateful when she rose to her feet as he tugged her up. His arm was throbbing and he doubted he could have carried her up the stairs at the moment.

Once in the bedroom, Vanessa started crying again in earnest. She was begging for his forgiveness as he tucked her into bed. "I'm so sorry, Robbie. I never meant to hurt you. You know I'd never hurt you..."

Chase smoothed the tears from her cheeks and smiled, trying to hide his pain. "I know," he whispered. "I know you wouldn't hurt me intentionally. It's okay." He leaned in to press a kiss to her temple, then he pulled the covers over her. "Get some sleep now. I'll come to bed soon." He waited until she had closed her eyes and curled up into a ball. She was still trembling with dry sobs, but after a time they eased as her body relaxed into slumber.

Rising to his feet, Chase bit his lip as the movement jarred his arm. He knew he was going to have a bone bruise without having to look at it. But once in the bathroom he shrugged out of his shirt, cursing himself for not wearing his suit jacket home. It would have provided some padding, but it happened to be a warm night so he'd left his jacket in the car. Pushing aside such idle thoughts, Chase studied his injury.

It was red and already swelling, and the contact point was about two inches above his elbow, directly on the bone. Flexibility was limited and there was still a sense of numbness. Reaching for the Tylenol, Chase popped three down then headed for the shower. He wanted to run but he knew he wouldn't be able too. Showering made his arm throb more so after he was done, dried and dressed in boxers and a tee-shirt, Chase headed to the kitchen for an ice pack. He kept a few in the freezer, usually for Vanessa's headaches, but he hoped they'd offer him some relief from the swelling.

Returning to the bedroom, Chase grabbed a towel before sliding under the covers on his side. Vanessa was still out for the count and she didn't stir as Chase reached over her for the remote. He was exhausted but jittery because of missing his run, and he wished he could take a sleeping pill, but knew he couldn't because he would be popping Tylenol and Ibuprofen all night. So he clicked on the TV and settled himself in for a long night, his throbbing arm propped on his stomach with the ice pack. It was three am before he drifted into a restless slumber.

OoO

He woke up feeling groggy and lethargic, pain throbbing in his arm and in his temples. He hadn't slept well between the pain and anxiety that plagued him. Chase felt jumpy and out of sorts even though he lacked the energy to respond accordingly. He slid out of bed to use the bathroom, taking the now warm ice pack with him. He checked his arm and winced to see the bruise that had already formed. He poked at the injury, hissing in pain. It was still swollen and sore but there was nothing he could do for it but let it heal. Unfortunately, he knew he wouldn't be able to run today. Not that he had the balance to do so. He felt too tired to see straight. But oddly enough, he hadn't really dreamed beyond a few hazy images of his mother floating around in his head.

Stripping off his t-shirt and boxers, Chase stepped into the shower. Using his left arm was painful, but he did what he had to do. Just like always. Getting dressed wasn't much fun either, but he managed it and was able to check on Vanessa before slipping out of the room. He didn't want to be there when she woke up and remembered what she had done. His mom had always remembered hurting him at the worst moments. There were always tears and pleas for forgiveness that had made Chase feel broken and angry at the same time. Angry at her. Then that anger would twist itself into guilt for blaming his mother for any of it. She hadn't asked for what had happened, anymore than he had.

Shrugging off such thoughts as useless and adding to his headache, Chase drove off to work. He swallowed Tylenol along with what felt like gallons of coffee, all of which roiled about in his otherwise empty stomach. Just the thought of food today made him want to retch.

Cuddy had brought them a patient, so they conferenced, ran tests and Chase plodded through the day with no intention of going home any time soon. He ignored the half a dozen pages Vanessa sent and just kept focused on his work. Until Cameron accidentally bumped into his sore arm and Chase felt the blood drain from his face. He bit his lip hard to keep from crying out in pain and had to grip the counter to stay on his feet when dizziness washed over him. He didn't think anyone had noticed.

But House had. He continued arguing a point with Foreman, but his sharp gaze never flickered off of Chase. Then he was spouting orders at Cameron, who hadn't even noticed Chase's reaction, and at Foreman, sending both of them out of the room.

Chase made to follow after them but House blocked his way. He backed up and glared at his boss.

"I didn't say you could leave," House drawled.

"You sent us to run tests," Chase countered, resisting the urge to cradle his arm to his chest; leaving it dangling at his side made it hurt more. But he could endure it. Another minute of arguing with House and he'd be off to help the others with the labs and such.

House arched and eyebrow and looked somewhat amused. "I sent them to run tests," he stated. "I didn't mention your name."

Chase resisted the urge to huff a sigh. "Fine then. What do you want me to do?"

"Show me your arm."

The words hit Chase like a slap in the face. "Excuse me?" he countered, even as he took an unwitting step back.

House followed him. "Your arm," he repeated, eyeing Chase like a predator who'd caught his prey and was about to pounce. "I want to see it."

"Why?" He couldn't have made a more lame response if he tried and Chase knew it, but he still glared defiance at House. How the hell did the man know? Obvious answer being he had been watching Chase, but why? Why was he always watching?

"Focus, Goldilocks," House said, while snapping his fingers in front of Chase's face. Then he was reaching out, one hand gripping Chase's wrist while the long fingers of his other hand were undoing the buttons at Chase's shirt sleeve cuff.

Too late he thought to pull back and all he achieved was causing himself pain when House refused to release him. Then he found himself pushed down into a chair, at which point Chase just gave in. It was too late to hide the truth anyway. He said nothing but gritted his teeth as House poked and prodded the injury.

Tutting to himself, House announced, "Bone bruise. Bad one."

"No kidding!" Chase snapped, and instantly regretted his outburst. For one thing it gave away too much. For another, House could use his anger against him. For a third, shouting made his head hurt worse.

"So what happened?" House asked, as he limped over to the mini fridge. It had a miniscule freezer compartment and Chase watched, more than a little surprised, when House removed an ice pack from it and came back to press it over Chase's arm.

Gripping it to keep it in place, Chase took a moment to enjoy the relief. It would be temporary as hell, but it was still welcome. After a moment he focused on the question and had a ready answer. "I tripped and fell."

House nodded. "While running?"

"Yes." Chase had hesitated over agreeing to that, but he really didn't have a choice with House watching him so intently.

"You see, here's my theory," House countered, moving to sit in the chair across from Chase. "I think Vanessa whacked you one with a vodka bottle."

Chase felt himself tensing and suddenly wondering if House had a spy at the manor, or maybe had managed to install video cameras when they weren't around. But he realized that this was nothing more than House hypothesizing the scenario that would freak Chase out the most. He'd be damned if he let it work this time. Sucking in a calming breath, Chase breezily replied, "You're wrong."

House chuckled at that, but the look in his eyes wasn't amusement. Chase couldn't pinpoint what it was, but then the laughter faded and House was leaning forward. "You shouldn't lie to yourself, Chase. Lie to everyone else, sure...but not to yourself."

"Whatever," Chase replied, because he really did not have the energy to debate with House right now.

"What are you taking for the pain and swelling?" House suddenly asked.

Chase was surprised by the question but answered readily enough. "Tylenol and Ibuprofen."

Reaching into his jacket pocket, House removed his prescription pad and scribbled something on two pages of it. "Get these filled then go home." He handed off the little squares of white paper then rose to his feet.

"I'm not going home," Chase replied, absently, as he stared at the prescriptions. He thought he might get them filled because House had prescribed an anti-inflammatory and a stronger pain reliever.

"You like the pain, don't you?" House was suddenly back in Chase's face. "Does it help assuage all your Catholic guilt? Is that why you're with Vanessa? Penance? Can't be for the money and you could have any young and gorgeous chick you wanted. Hell, half the nurses here would sell their souls for the chance of one night with you. So that has to be it." He trailed off as if pondering his own words for the moment. Then he looked triumphant and nodded. "That's it, isn't it? That's why you're with Vanessa. Penance. You couldn't save mom and you know damn well you can't save Vanessa, but you picked a winner, Chase. She's killing you slowly. Death without it being suicide so you won't be committing any sin and therefore you won't rot in hell when you're gone."

Chase stared at House in disbelief. The man looked obscenely smug and Chase wanted nothing more than to slug him. "You're talking rubbish," Chase replied, making himself speak softly and calmly. "I don't like pain and I'm not trying to die, slowly or otherwise."

House sighed. "What did I tell you about lying to yourself?"

"Stay out of my personal life!" Chase snapped, losing his temper after all. He made to get up but House blocked him with his cane.

"I'm trying to help you." House both looked and sounded serious.

But Chase didn't want his help. "You're and addict," he shot back, locking eyes with House and seeing the blue eyes darken in reaction to his words. "You can't even help yourself. So leave me alone." With his good hand Chase knocked the cane aside, rose to his feet and exited the room.

He walked down the hallway, focusing on keeping his breathing even. He felt jittery and nauseous and his head was pounding. He made it to the elevator and hit the down button. The moment he hit the next floor he was running for the nearest bathroom. Falling to his knees inside the stall, he didn't pray for forgiveness as he heaved his guts out. He prayed for relief.

OoO

The moment Chase left, House headed for Wilson's office. He knocked but didn't wait to be invited in. Wilson was on the phone and he glanced up when House entered and didn't seem the least bit surprised when the phone was plucked out of his hand and dropped back into the cradle.

"Let me guess," Wilson began, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his chin as if in deep contemplation. "You're here to talk about Chase?"

"You should put out a sign," House shot back. "Five bucks for a psychic reading. You'll make a killing." He dropped into the chair across from his friend, stretching out his bad leg and rubbing at his damaged thigh. He needed another Vicodin but he wanted to be focused at the moment. "You need to talk to Chase," he announced.

Wilson sighed. "We've been chatting and he's not revealing anything to me. He's just...polite. He listens to me ramble on then escapes as soon as he can."

House glared at his friend. "Then make him talk! You're good at it."

"Actually, I suck at it," Wilson countered. "What happened?" he asked, because it was obvious something had.

"Chase got whacked by Vanessa," House replied, lifting one hand to rub at his temples. "And by whacked I don't mean snuffed out. I mean she hit him, probably with a vodka bottle."

Wilson looked stunned. "Chase told you that?"

House rolled his eyes. "No!" he snapped. "But he has a bone bruise on his forearm, right in the place you would get one if you threw your arm up to protect yourself from being whacked in the head with a vodka bottle. And you might have noticed he's been avoiding going home nights for almost a week now."

"I have noticed that," Wilson allowed.

"So talk to him," House prompted, and he really wanted Wilson to jump right up and go have a chat with Chase. Like right now. But the other man just sat behind his desk, staring at him. People could be so very very frustrating some times. He wondered why he bothered with them. "Now would be good," he emphasized.

Wilson shook his head. "House...he's not going to talk to me. He's not going to talk to any of us. In case you haven't noticed, Chase has trust issues?"

House feigned dramatic shock. "Really? OMG! I hadn't noticed!" He glared at Wilson then pushed to his feet. "Maybe he'll talk to Cameron."

"He slept with Cameron, so forget that. It's not like they're friends." Wilson tapped his fingertips on his desk top, suddenly looking deep in thought. "He was talking to Cuddy for a while, maybe he'll..." he trailed off and shook his head. "Never mind, bad idea. He already admitted to me that he just told her what she wanted to hear."

"Maybe I'll go talk to Vanessa," House decided, already heading for the door. But Wilson didn't have a limp to slow him down and he cut House off.

Leaning back against the door to keep House from it, Wilson stated, "Bad idea. Very very bad idea. Besides which, you don't have proof that Vanessa hit Chase. And even if she did she was probably drunk at the time and didn't realize what she was doing."

House was stunned and let it show. "So it's okay that she's beating on him because she was drunk at the time? I wonder if that's how mommy dearest justified it."

"What makes you think Chase's mother ever hit him?" It was Wilson's turn to be stunned again. "I think your imagination is running wild, House. You need to stop watching General Hospital."

"Drunks always get violent," House replied. "And in his desire to help mommy, do you really doubt the fact that young Robbie didn't get a few whacks for his troubles?"

Wilson scrubbed a weary hand over his face then locked eyes with House. "Whatever you decide to do, base your actions on facts...not assumptions. Chase is damaged enough, don't do something stupid and break him in the process."

House scowled at Wilson. The man needed to buy a clue. "Of course I won't break him. If I did I'd have to do interviews again. You know I hate them." With that he reached out and pushed Wilson aside so he could stride out the door as fast as his limp would take him.

He went in search of Chase who was back in the conference room, with test results from Cameron. Then Foreman showed up, they conferenced and Chase headed out for clinic duty, before House could stop him. So in the end he let it go. For now. But he watched Chase like a hawk.

OoO

Wilson couldn't get House's words out of his head. House was seldom wrong about things. He was an irritatingly good judge of people, so maybe he was right about Vanessa. Which had him heading off in search of Chase instead of going home at the end of the day.

He found Chase in ICU and hauled him away for a break. He decided it was time to be painfully honest. "House is worried about you." Wilson was a bit worried himself. Chase looked pale and drawn and he was cradling his left arm to his chest.

"He should stop," Chase replied, being completely succinct.

"Probably," Wilson allowed, then he withdrew a packet of small white tablets. He pushed held them out to Chase. "Take one for the pain," he ordered.

Chase stared at the tablets, then he popped one out and swallowed it dry. "Thanks." He looked ready to walk away.

So Wilson cut him off by blurting out, "How is Vanessa doing?"

"She's been better," Chase replied, and he looked surprised at himself for the admission.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Wilson prompted, hiding the fact that he was just as surprised by Chase's reply.

But Chase shook his head. "No, I don't. I know House asked you to talk to me..." he began.

Wilson cut him off. "He did, but I'm evoking the doctor-patient thingy. Anything you say to me will remain between us, Chase. I swear it."

"There's nothing to say," Chase replied, looking jittery. They were at a corner table in the cafeteria and Chase had one leg jiggling up and down without seeming to be aware of it. "All couples go through rough patches. We'll work it out."

"Sometimes you can't," Wilson replied, and he knew that from experience. Three wives and he struck out at the marriage thing with all of them.

Chase was staring down at his hands, which were loosely clasped on the table. After a long moment he began to talk in a quiet voice, almost as if he had forgotten Wilson was there and he was just doing a string of consciousness type of rambling. Like he was just sorting things out in his head. "When you love someone you don't give up on them. You take care of them. Sometimes your love isn't good enough, but that doesn't mean you can stop trying. You just have to try harder. It's not their fault when you fail."

It hit Wilson, like a sledgehammer to his gut, that Chase was talking about his mother. Maybe even his father. That Chase was saying his love wasn't good enough. Or maybe he was just taking a page out of the House book of projecting, putting forth his own hypothesis, but Wilson was pretty sure Chase was making his own form of confession. "Love is a two way street, Chase," he replied. "Sometimes we're not the ones who fail."

"I suppose," Chase replied, then he shook his head and looked up at Wilson. His eyes were glazed and he pushed to his feet with a weariness that looked bone deep. "I have to get back to work." With that he slipped away.

"Dammit," Wilson muttered, as he got up himself. He couldn't talk about this with House, but he could tell him he needed to keep close watch on Chase. Wilson had no doubt that the Aussie was going to crash and burn. And that it was going to be soon.

**THE END...of part 8**


	9. Chapter 9

**REWIND...part 9**

When Chase left Wilson, he headed for the locker room to collect his gear. He knew it would be best if he went home. If House was sending Wilson to talk to him again, then House would be watching him too closely. So Chase made a pit stop in Cuddy's office to request the next two days off. He explained about his injury and she was more than willing to give him the time, especially since he had been putting so much overtime in anyway. He then made a stop at the pharmacy to fill the prescriptions House had given him.

Not that he wanted to go home. But he went there anyway because there was no place else for him to go. To his relief Vanessa was out when he got there. Chase was tired and his arm ached so he decided to eat something then go to bed. He ate half a banana, some toast and drank some Gatorade. He decided to shower before going to bed, and the hot water felt wonderful. He stayed under it for quite a while, then he dried off, took one of each prescription, pulled on boxers and a t-shirt and slid under the covers.

He felt jittery and he knew it was because he needed to run, but the ache in his head and arm wouldn't allow it so he closed his eyes and willed himself to go to sleep. As his mind drifted about, Chase found himself remembering his mother's funeral. Remembering how alone he had felt and how he had stood beside his mother's coffin before it was lowered into the ground, silently begging her for the forgiveness she could no longer give him. He would have to live with the fact that he had failed her.

And with that lingering guilt and sadness, Chase drifted off into darkness.

OoO

House finished the last of his noodles, setting aside the empty box and his chopsticks and focusing all his attention on Wilson. "So Chase is overflowing with guilt," he stated, picking up on the conversation they had started back at the Hospital. A conversation that House put a halt to after being interrupted by Cuddy calling and telling him that Chase was taking the next two days off. He still hadn't decided if that was a good thing or bad.

Wilson sighed, setting aside his own carton of food, unfinished. "He said more to me in those few sentences than in all the other times we've talked. He thinks his love isn't good enough."

"Whose is?" House scoffed. "Love can't save people or make life better. All it does is mess people up and complicate things."

"You would know all about that," Wilson allowed.

House made a face at him. "You're the King of the broken hearted, hot shot," he countered, then he grinned when Wilson flipped him the bird. "Chase doesn't love Vanessa anyway," he continued. "He's latched on to her as a mother figure, the same way he's clinging to me as a father figure."

Wilson sighed, scrubbing one hand over his face. "God, he's one fucked up kid," he bemoaned.

"Tell me about it." House was nothing if not honest to himself, and Chase choosing him as a father figure was pathetic. Which was why he tried so hard to keep the Aussie focused on medicine. Chase could be a brilliant diagnostician, if he pushed himself to be. But House knew Chase was afraid to make the effort. He was afraid of failing and having nothing left to hang on to. And in failing, his father - though dead now - would still be right about him. Fathers really sucked. Shaking off that line of thought, House locked eyes with Wilson. "So what should I do?"

"Damned if I know." Wilson pushed out of his chair and began cleaning up the mess. He took it to the kitchen, dumped it in the garbage, then grabbed them both a second beer from the fridge. He handed one off to House and said, "He's teetering on the edge of the precipice right now. If you push too hard he'll tip over. If you don't push at all, he'll tip over."

House knew Wilson was right. "I could force him into therapy. Cuddy would sign off on it."

Wilson looked shocked. "By therapy you mean lock him up in some rehab type place?"

"Might work," House replied with casual indifference. He rolled his eyes at the venomous glare Wilson shot him. "What would you like me to do? Hold his hand? Either I do something drastic to help him or I sit on the sidelines and watch the train wreck happen."

"Find a third option," Wilson prompted. "Something less destructive for both of you."

House waved a dismissive hand at that. "The only way I'm affected by what happens to Chase is if I lose him. Then I have to do another interview."

Wilson sighed. "You're an ass."

"And proud of it," House replied, pushing to his feet and moving over to sit at the piano. He closed his eyes and began to play, hoping to find some kind of answer in the beauty of the music. But he knew that a pretty melody couldn't save Chase, or his own miserable soul.

OoO

Chase woke up still alone. Vanessa hadn't come home. Which worried him enough to make him reach for the phone and call her. She answered her cell sounding slurred and exhausted, but she seemed pleased enough to hear from him and she promised she would be back tonight. Then she hung up on him. Chase didn't think much of it because Vanessa's behavior was much like his mother's had been. Horrifically drastic mood swings.

Sliding out of bed he relieved himself then popped two more pills. His arm was stiff but didn't ache quite as much today, so long as he didn't press on the sore spot. Pulling on sweats and lacing on sneakers, Chase headed for the kitchen. He made himself eat half a banana, since one of the pills was meant to be taken with food, then he drank a bit of Gatorade before heading out for a run.

By the time he came back, over an hour later, he was tired, his arm throbbed a bit, but he felt better than he had in days. In fact, he was whistling to himself as he grabbed the Gatorade out of the fridge. He gulped some down then headed upstairs for a shower. Once he was out he brushed his teeth and half considered going in to work. But he nixed the idea. If he stayed out the two days then House would see that he was fine and get off his back. So he pulled on jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, forgoing socks since he enjoyed being barefoot. As a kid he had loved spending time at the beach. Mostly he'd gone with his mother before she had gotten too drunk to go out much. Then he'd hung out with his friends a bit, until his mum had become too needy and dependant on him.

He didn't want to think about that now. That part of his life was over and done with and he had traveled thousands of miles to make it so. Reaching for the remote, Chase clicked the TV on and climbed onto the bed. He didn't care about the messy covers today. Normally he was something of a neat freak. In fact it had been a bit hard adjusting to the fact that Vanessa was compulsively messy, relying completely on servants to keep her house neat and clean and tidy. She had even yelled at Chase for picking up after her a few times in the beginning of their relationship. That was one difference between Vanessa and his mother. His mum had yelled at him many times for not picking up her messes. Times when he was busy trying to focus on his school work. Or when he had been angry enough at her and his life to slip away, to have some fun with his friends for a few hours.

"Stop it!" Chase hissed at himself. The TV wasn't working to distract him, he needed something else to do. Slipping off the bed he headed downstairs, wandering through the house and half talking himself into going in to work. Maybe he could slip in and hide his presence from both House and Cuddy. But Chase nixed that idea at once. He'd never be able to pull it off. House would no doubt sense his presence and Cuddy always seemed to know what was going on in her Hospital.

After a time, Chase wandered into what Vanessa called the sitting room. Off to one side was a baby grand piano. Chase moved to sit on the bench, letting his fingertips rest lightly on the ivory keys. He hadn't played in years. Vanessa had asked him once if he played and he'd told her not really. But it was hard to forget ten years of piano lessons, especially when you started them at four years old. So Chase closed his eyes and began to play, the music flowing stiffly at first, but then becoming more melodious as he relaxed and let himself simply feel each note.

He played for three hours, finally stopping because his fingers and wrists ached and his injury was starting to throb. Closing the lid, Chase slid off the bench and headed for the kitchen. He drank some water and ate a banana, then he went upstairs to take more pills. The pain meds were strong enough to make him a bit sleepy, so he stretched out on the bed and dozed off.

Chase woke to shadows in the room. He had slept for seven hours, waking only because he had to pee. While relieving himself he started feeling jittery again so after washing his hands he stripped out of his jeans and into sweatpants. Socks and sneakers went on next and Chase headed out for a short run. He felt sweaty and a bit achy when he returned, but more focused and less jittery. He ate a bit, took the bottle of Gatorade upstairs with him then took a quick shower. Vanessa was standing in the doorway when he stepped out, reaching for the towel. He flushed a bit at her scrutiny, even though she often saw him naked. For some reason he felt too vulnerable and exposed in this moment.

"I did that to you," she said, moving to him and gesturing at the bruise on his forearm. "I hurt you, Robbie."

"It's okay." The reassurance slipped out reflexively. He was so used to saying it. "You didn't mean it." The words sounded stilted to his own ears. Just because you repeated something a million times, that didn't make it true.

Tears slid down Vanessa's face as she wrapped her arms around him. "I'm so so sorry, Robbie!" she sobbed into his neck. "I wouldn't hurt you for the world!"

Chase wrapped his arms around her, wincing at the pull in his sore arm. She was clinging to him like a leech, uncaring that he was still wet and that water was soaking into her clothes. But Chase still felt too exposed and there was a chill in the air that left him shuddering. "It's okay," he said, rubbing a hand over Vanessa's back. "Why don't you wait for me in the bedroom while I get dressed and we'll talk about it."

"Come with me, Robbie." Vanessa was pulling away and gripping his good arm to make him come with her. 

He wasn't sure he wanted this, but he knew Vanessa used sex to make things better. Better for her, but maybe it was better for them both. So Chase let her push him onto the bed. He helped her strip out of her blouse and skirt and undergarments. He let her kiss him and touch him and ride him, until they were both spent and exhausted. Then he let his eyes drift closed as she whispered more apologies. Mercifully, sleep soon claimed him.

OoO

"So, no word from Chase?" Cameron asked, as House entered his office. She was sorting through his emails as she always did.

"Not that I know of," House replied, waving her out of his chair. "He's off till tomorrow, why would I hear from him?"

Cameron shrugged. "I thought maybe you might have called to check on him."

House snorted. "Does that sound like something I would do?"

"I dunno, you're always doing something to surprise me," Cameron replied, and there was a slight smirk on her lips as she spoke.

"What have I done lately?" House queried, as he reached in his coat pocket for his Vicodin bottle. He popped one then stared at Cameron, waiting for a reply.

But she was done with their verbal sparring. "No new cases so I'm heading to the clinic," she announced.

House let her reach the door before calling out, "Don't forget to sign in as me!" When she turned around to glare at him he grinned, but the moment she was gone the smile faded. He wondered if he was being too readable all of a sudden, or if Cameron was just paying too close attention to him. Or both. He thought he had hidden his concern for Chase pretty damn well. Well enough that he could fool himself into pretending he didn't care about the Aussie. Sometimes. Truth be told, it had taken all his considerable will power not to drive over to the Mansion to make sure Chase was still alive and kicking.

"Goldilocks can take care of himself," House announced to his office at large. Nodding to himself in agreement, he reached for his Gameboy, studiously ignoring the phone.

OoO

His last day off was better than he had expected it to be. Chase had slept the night through, waking up early enough to take a long run. Vanessa had been awake upon his return and they had showered together before sharing a light breakfast. She wasn't a big eater in the morning, so she didn't notice that he didn't eat much more than a bite of toast and some fruit.

They spent the rest of the day lazing around the house and she made it a point to make sure of his comfort, fetching his pills when he needed them and tucking him in when he started dozing while watching TV. As he drifted off, Chase felt a twinge of hope that things could be good between them again. If he made more of an effort, his life could be good with Vanessa.

When he woke up he felt jittery and a bit nauseous. Vanessa fussed over him and Chase assured her he was fine, just shaking off the effects of too much sleep. He got up, used the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He wanted to go for a run but he knew he would have to wait until Vanessa was sleeping.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Vanessa asked, when he returned to the bedroom.

"I'm fine," Chase assured her. "Maybe we could go for a walk?" He glanced out the window and the sun was shining. It was near dinner time and he suddenly felt a bit claustrophobic. He wasn't sure if it was from being inside or because of Vanessa's almost suffocating presence, but he needed to escape, one way or another.

Vanessa looked surprised by the request, but nodded. "I think I have some comfortable shoes somewhere," she said, laughing as she rummaged about in the closet. After a time she returned, watching as Chase laced on his sneakers.

He thanked her when they got outside. "You don't have to come with if you really don't want to," Chase said. "But I appreciate you making the effort."

"What...you think I can't handle a little walk?" Vanessa countered, pouting at him playfully. "This will be good for the both of us, Robbie." She linked her arm through his and sighed. "Sometimes I feel like life is rushing by me and I'm missing out on everything."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," Chase said softly. Sometimes he felt as if he had missed his entire childhood. Like he'd never had the chance to be a normal kid. But the time for past regrets was over and he reminded himself to live in the moment.

Vanessa squeezed his arm. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess at times," she apologized. "I don't make it easy for you, do I?"

Chase leaned in to kiss her cheek. "It's okay," he assured her, because he knew that was what she needed. What she was asking him for. "I like a challenge. Wouldn't be working for House if I didn't." And wasn't that an absolute and almost terrifying truth. Working for House was a challenge that sometimes overwhelmed Chase, but he was determined to face it. He would never acknowledge it to himself, but a part of him knew he needed House. He just wasn't sure why.

"What do you feel like for supper?" Vanessa was asking.

And Chase realized she had changed subjects and he hadn't even noticed. Apparently she hadn't noticed his lack of attention, but he was determined to focus now. "Whatever you want," he said. "I'm not fussy." He wasn't hungry either, but he'd eat enough to look like he was.

They fell into a companionable silence after that, and Chase wished that the rest of his life could be so simple and pleasant. But he knew better than to wish for the impossible.

OoO

He awoke, jolted out of a dream, the images mangled in his head, but the emotions were raw and painful and he made a mad dash for the toilet. Chase heaved bile more than anything else, but it burned in his throat and his insides felt twisted by the time he was done retching. He was shaky and jittery as he rose to his feet to rinse his mouth. He needed to run.

Five minutes later he was outside, pounding the pavement and cursing himself for falling asleep before taking a run after bed. But he and Vanessa had made love and it been better than he ever remembered it being and they had both drifted off to sleep. By the time Chase got back to the house he felt better. He was in control of his body again and he was starting to feel like he was also in control of his life. For the first time ever.

He managed to down a slice of toast, a half of a banana and a half a bottle of Gatorade. Heading for the bathroom he showered, brushed his teeth, got dressed and realized his arm was doing better. Still sporting a mottled bruise and still tender to touch, but otherwise healing well. So Chase didn't bother with the meds House had prescribed for him, stuffing them into the sink drawer instead. He spotted the sleeping pills he had been taking and it was almost a relief that he hadn't needed them of late either. Not that he could have taken them with the other meds, but he hadn't needed too. He could go to work today and House would see he was fine and maybe, finally, leave him alone.

A smile on his lips, Chase moved to the bed to brush a goodbye kiss to Vanessa's temple. They had talked a lot yesterday, and she had shared some of her fears with him. Chase thought he understood her better and a part of him wished his mother had shared her fears with him as well. Sometimes she had confessed things to him, almost as if Chase were a priest she were admitting her sins too. But she had never really talked to him about things, and whenever he had tried, she'd always blown him off. Maybe talking would have made a difference somehow.

But Chase couldn't let himself focus on it. He couldn't change the past, he knew that better than anyone. So he would let it go and move on. Today was a new day, a fresh start. His mum had always told him that and it had never been true then. Chase was going to make it true now.

Still smiling, he headed out the door. On the drive to work, he let the radio blast, letting the music wrap around him, seeping in and soothing his soul. Music had always been a way for him to escape reality when he was a kid. Like most kids he had hated having to practice the piano and the violin, but he had loved the end result. Although he hadn't allowed himself the comfort of playing since his mother's death.

He didn't want to think about that either, so he was relieved when he pulled into the parking lot. Five minutes later he was in the conference room, making coffee. Five minutes after that Cameron came in and gave him a hug. Chase was so surprised by her action that he hugged her back reflexively.

"How are you feeling?" Cameron asked, pulling back and not even bothering to be discreet about giving him the once over.

"I'm fine," Chase replied, firmly. He didn't want her fussing over him anymore than he wanted House invading his privacy. Easing away from her he moved to pour them both a cup of coffee. "Do we have a case?" he asked, as he poured milk into both of their mugs.

Cameron shook her head. "Not unless something comes up today." She accepted her mug with a smile.

Chase wasn't looking forward to a day of sitting around and being bored. "Maybe I'll do some clinic hours then," he said, and it was at that moment House strolled through the door.

"We need to talk, Chase," he said, heading for his office, with the air of expecting to be obeyed and followed.

"What did you do to piss him off already?" Cameron asked, sotto voce.

Chase shrugged. "Good question. I haven't been here to screw anything up." He stepped past her, mug in hand, and entered House's office.

House was sitting behind his desk, eyes locked on Chase as he approached. "So, how's Vanessa?" he queried, amusement coloring his tone.

"She's fine," Chase replied. He hated the smirk House was wearing, but he'd be damned if he'd let the man get under his skin today. "We're both good," he continued. "So, we done? I'm off to the clinic."

"What are you running away from now, Chase?" House countered. 

Chase kept his expression neutral and his tone the same as he replied, "I'm not running, I'm walking off to go to work. Is that a problem?"

House shrugged, his own expression as blank as Chase's. "Guess we'll see," he drawled, then he waved a hand at him. "Go do whatever it is you do. That doctoring thing."

Without another word, Chase left. But throughout the course of the day he was aware of the way both House and Wilson were watching him. Almost stalking him really, but he didn't react to them in any way. He just smiled when he saw them and carried on with whatever he was doing at the time. Let them watch, there was nothing to see. Soon enough they would get bored and find someone else to bother. Or so he hoped.

OoO

House sat at a corner table in the cafeteria, along with Wilson. He wasn't good company though. He was too focused on both his lunch and the table across the way where Chase, Foreman and Cameron sat chatting and eating.

Wilson watched the ducklings for a time as well, then he pushed his own sandwich aside and said, "Chase seems to be doing a lot better than he was."

"Seems to be," House allowed, around a mouthful of Rueben. "But appearances are always deceptive."

"In House's world they are," Wilson conceded.

Because his mouth was full, House could do nothing more than glare at Wilson, which he thought conveyed his opinion well enough anyway. Eventually he was able to swallow, eased by a long gulp of bottled water, then he turned his full attention on Chase and his companions, not even bothering to hide it.

Chase knew he was being watched by House and Wilson. Knew they had followed him to the cafeteria, which was why he had agreed to lunch with Cameron and Foreman. He didn't want to be alone so either House or Wilson could corner him. It was bad enough that he could feel them watching. Distracting enough that he was having a hard time following the conversation going on at his own table.

"Chase!"

He jumped at the sound of his name and turned to see Foreman watching him with amusement and Cameron looking annoyed. He realized he must have zoned out on something Cameron had said and he couldn't, for the life of him, remember what the topic of conversation had been. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "What were you saying?"

Cameron huffed an irritated sigh then said, "Foreman and I are going out for drinks tomorrow night after work. Do you want to come with us? We were thinking of catching a late movie after."

"I might join you for the drinks," Chase allowed. He could sense that Cameron was getting ready to ask him something more personal so he gathered his plate, which still contained most of a tuna sandwich, and stood up. "I need to get back to the clinic. See you guys later." With that Chase took off, passing by House and Wilson's table and resisting the urge to flip them both the bird

But he could feel them watching him as he exited the room.

OoO

Chase was collecting his gear to head out the door, glad that the day was finally at an end, when Wilson popped up. Cameron had already left, Foreman before her and House had disappeared hours ago. Chase had stayed late to do a bit of overtime in the clinic since Cuddy was short staffed, and now he wanted nothing more than to go home and take a run. But he faced Wilson with a neutral smile plastered on his face.

Wilson looked uncomfortable, he had his hands folded behind his back and he was rocking on his heels, as he eyed Chase. "So, how did your day go?" he queried.

"Fine," Chase replied. He wasn't in the mood to make this confrontation all that easy on Wilson. He'd had it with feeling like he was on suicide watch or something. "Yours?" He countered.

"It was...good." Wilson shrugged a bit and continued rocking. "So, um...I was wondering if you wanted to go for a drink or something? Or we can talk right here if you like."

Chase let puzzlement cross his face. "Talk about what? Did I miss a memo or something? Did you need a consult?" He was being deliberately obtuse because he knew what Wilson was doing. This was another fishing expedition sanctioned by House. So Chase would simply play the dumb blond role that House was so fond of putting him in, then Wilson could run back and report absolutely nothing to him.

Wilson expelled a soft sigh, dropping the pretense of polite conversation. "Look, I'm not going to pretend I haven't been worried about you, okay?"

"You don't have to worry about me," Chase countered, feeling a bit surprised and a bit irritated. "It's not your place to worry about me."

"That's what people do, Chase," Wilson replied, looking a bit exasperated. "They worry about each other."

Chase shrugged at that. "Well don't," he advised. "I'm not worth the effort." With that he made to head out the door, but a hand gripped his good arm, turning him back around.

Wilson's expression was grim and determination glinted in his eyes. "It's okay to let people care about you, Chase!" He stated.

"Look, I appreciate the sentiment," Chase interjected, because he was heading off whatever spiel Wilson had planned at the pass. "But the stuff I said before, just forget about it. I was tired and hurting and talking rubbish. Hell, I don't even remember what I said now, so don't let it bother you." Smiling brightly, Chase patted Wilson on the shoulder then strode for the door. He was relieved when the other man let him go. As he stepped onto the elevator, Chase made a vow not to let himself give in to the desire to bare his soul to anyone again. Even though he trusted Wilson to keep his confidences private, he regretted having said anything at all.

OoO

The next two days passed with relative ease. Vanessa drank but not to excess and Chase enjoyed their time together. At work Cameron found them a case and that meant House was caught up in the puzzle that was the patient, instead of musing over Chase. So he found himself relaxing at work and agreeing to go out for drinks this time with Cameron and Foreman after work.

He only fiddled with his glass of wine though, while trying to pay attention to what his companions were chatting about. Foreman, apparently, was dating one of the nurses. A red head from Pediatrics. Chase vaguely knew who she was. Pretty enough girl, although for some reason he wouldn't have thought Foreman would date a nurse. He seemed more pretentious than that to Chase.

After a time Foreman turned the tables onto Cameron and Chase joined in with teasing her and threatening to fix her up with the bartender, Joey. He looked like some mafia tough guy from a Hollywood movie. Cameron insisted he wasn't her type. It felt good to joke with them and to watch Cameron blushing. He felt almost normal. If it wasn't for the fact he felt so jittery, Chase might have truly enjoyed himself.

"What about you, Chase?" Cameron asked suddenly. "How are things with you and Vanessa?"

"Yeah, man," Foreman piped in. "Are we ever gonna meet her?"

Chase felt a flutter of panic and stood up, reaching for his coat. "I have to go," he replied, reaching into his pocket to toss a twenty on the table. "Next rounds on me. Enjoy." With that he nearly bolted out of the bar, ignoring Cameron calling after him.

Once in his car, Chase clutched the steering wheel until his knuckles showed white. He felt shaky and agitated and he was half tempted to get out of the car and run all the way home. But he knew he couldn't make it that far so he started the car and drove home. He was relieved to learn Vanessa was still out. He changed into running clothes and took off down the street. A part of Chase was tempted to run and run and never look back.

OoO

"Maybe we were wrong about Chase," Wilson commented, as he picked an overcooked piece of pepperoni off his slice of pizza. They were at House's apartment, downing pizza and beer while watching reruns of M.A.S.H.

"I'm never wrong," House announced, as he reached for his third slice.

Wilson sighed in exasperation. "He looks rested and pretty much back to normal. He's interactive again, he even went out for drinks with Cameron and Foreman."

House rolled his eyes. "That's because he knows we're watching him, so he's giving us what he thinks we want to see. In essence, he's lying to us."

"Or maybe he's actually trying to pull his life back together," Wilson countered, tossing the pizza aside. He had lost his appetite. "People try to do that you know. When they get depressed or hit a rut, they try to pull out of it and move on."

"Some people do," House allowed. "Not Chase."

Wilson knew he was going to regret asking, but he did so anyway. "Why not Chase?"

House grinned at his friend, knowing he had him hooked. "Because Chase loves wallowing in his guilt. He wants to suffocate himself in it."

"He's Catholic," Wilson replied. "That's what Catholics do. They don't do it as well as Jews though." He could swim without ever reaching shore in the ocean of his own guilt.

"They do it different," House countered, reaching for his beer and chugging it down in two gulps. He wiped his mouth on a napkin then patted his stomach in contentment. "Chase could write a book on guilt."

Wilson sighed. "He's too young to have that much guilt."

House shrugged. "Go figure. Bottom line is that it's eating him up from the inside. He has no choice but to do penance for his sins, and it's tearing him apart, piece by piece."

"And if you're right...what are you going to do about it?" Wilson queried. Even though he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. "Are you going to sweep up the pieces and put him back together, or are you going to kick them into the gutter?"

"Do you really have to ask?" House shot back, wearing a hurt expression. "I care about what happens to Chase."

Wilson snorted. "You care about not having to interview someone else for his position."

House leaned back in his chair and locked eyes with Wilson. "I care about not losing a good doctor to stupidity."

"You can't force Chase to be okay," Wilson warned his friend.

"You'd be surprised what I can do," House countered, reaching for the remote and turning up the volume, thereby rendering any further conversation mute.

OoO

Monday came and they had a new case. Only they'd just gotten started on the differential diagnosing part of things when Cuddy appeared in the doorway.

"I need to borrow Chase," she announced, gesturing for him to join her.

"What for?" Chase asked, even as he got up.

House blocked him from heading for the door, his eyes locked on Cuddy. "We have a patient to take care of," he stated. "Chase is busy."

Cuddy glared at House. "There was a bus accident on the freeway and their sending the victims here. I need Chase in the ER. You can have him back tomorrow." She moved to shove House out of the way then grabbed Chase by the arm to pull him out the door.

"I'd like to help out!" Cameron volunteered, rising to her feet.

"Thank you, but no," Cuddy replied firmly. "Chase will be sufficient. You have your own patient to save." With that she pushed Chase out the door and they were gone.

Cameron looked annoyed. "We could have helped," she complained.

House eyed her with amusement. "Do you know why she didn't want your help?" he offered.

"Are you psychic now and can read her thoughts?" Foreman interjected, looking amused.

"I want to know," Cameron stated, glaring at Foreman a bit. She then focused her attention on House.

He sat down across from her, leaning back in his chair and balancing his cane on his lap. "You'd be useless in a triage situation, which is basically what they're up against. You'd see someone crying and waste time comforting them. Or someone would be bleeding out and beyond saving but you would hold their hand offering false hope until their last breath, meanwhile someone else that you might have been able to save will have died as well."

Cameron was astonished and angry. "That's not true!" she protested, indignation clear in her tone. "I could do the job that needed to be done."

"No you couldn't," Foreman muttered. When she glared at him he shrugged. "Sorry, but House is right."

"Don't get on your high horse, Foreman," House chided. "Notice Cuddy didn't ask for your help either."

Foreman shrugged. "So what? I'll be the first to admit that in a life and death saving scenario, Chase is the best qualified."

House smacked a palm against the table. "Damnation, and Chase wasn't here to hear that proclamation. Wish I had recorded it for him. Dr. Foreman has admitted that Dr. Chase is better at something than he is."

"Kiss my ass," Foreman shot back, calmly.

"Not my type," House countered, without missing a beat. Then he was on his feet and limping over to the whiteboard. He grabbed a black marker and began to write.

OoO

Chase followed Cuddy to the ER. He had pulled a lot of shifts here since coming to PPTH. Mostly when they were short staffed or during emergency situations like this one. As they passed through the double doors he could already see an ambulance coming in. He moved forward to greet it but Cuddy held him back.

"We've got two other doctors who can take the first cases," she stated. "Go get into some scrubs, then come do your thing."

"Right," Chase replied, knowing that she meant for him to keep as many people alive as he could. He hurried off and grabbed a pair of scrubs. He changed in the men's room, chucking his clothes aside into a heap. Injured people wouldn't wait for him to be neat about it, then he hurried back out, accepting a pair of latex gloves from a nurse. "Where do I start?" he asked her, because there were already a half dozen gurneys.

She pointed to exam area one. Chase nodded and ran over, not reacting to the horrific sight of a young woman with half of her face mangled. Her good eye was open and she was focused on him so he put a smile on his face and went to work. Moving from patient to patient with the same smile glued to his face. Calling out orders, yanking off blood covered gloves only to snap on a new pair. He tuned out the cries of pain, the tears of those grieving over lost loved ones. He handled one emergency with a detached calmness, then scurried over to handle another. He signed off on as many people as he sent off to surgery or to the nurses who were handling the minor injuries.

Three hours later he took a two minute break to puke then pee, before guzzling a cup of coffee. Then he exchanged his bloody scrub top for a clean one, pulled on a fresh set of gloves and waded back out into the sea of broken humanity.

THE END...of part 10


	10. Chapter 10

**REWIND...part 10**

He didn't know what time it was when one of the nurses made him take a dinner break. It actually took Chase a moment of stepping back and staring around the area to realize that everyone had finally been taken care of. Not that his job was over, because he would be spending the night in the ICU watching over the critical care patients, of which there were going to be many. But, for the moment, he could allow himself a small break.

What he wanted to do was go for a run, but he knew he didn't have that much time, so he settled for what would do in a pinch. Chase peeled off the soiled scrub top he was wearing, leaving him in just a t-shirt and scrub bottoms, then he headed for the stairs. He ran down them to the ground floor, then back up to the top, then back down again before heading for the locker room. He had a change of clothes in his locker, so he snagged his boxer-briefs and t-shirt having already appropriated a clean set of scrubs. 

The run up and down the stairs had pumped up his adrenaline enough that Chase still felt the rush of it. It would help get him through the long night. He started the shower, stepped in and washed up, scrubbed his hair clean, dried off and got dressed. He sat down to put on clean socks and grab his running shoes, his other pair were blood-spattered and he tossed them in the garbage.

After combing some gel through his hair, Chase brushed it away from his face and was content. All he had to do now was call Vanessa. He used the payphone in the lobby and he was glad when she didn't give him any argument about working the night through. She simply told him not to work to hard then signed off.

Heading back to the ER to make certain they didn't still need him, Chase ran into Cuddy. She looked limp and worn out, but she offered him a smile as she reached him.

"Good job today, Chase," she told him. "I really appreciate the help."

"Just doing my job," he replied, shrugging off her praise. Although a part of him felt pleased by it. Praise came to him so rarely, that sometimes he felt like he just about absorbed it into himself as if it might offer some absolution. But for what, that he wasn't sure of. Maybe it was something he wanted to throw into his father's face, only he couldn't do that anymore now that his father was dead.

Cuddy was eyeing him with concern. "Why don't you go home, Chase?" she offered. "I can get someone else to cover the ICU."

He shook his head, offering a tired smile. "You don't have anyone else, remember? Short staffed." He brightened his smile a bit and said, "I'll be fine. I'll catnap and such. Won't be the first time I've pulled such a long shift."

"Okay." Cuddy gave in gracefully. "But you're home by noon tomorrow, no arguments." She shook a finger at him to make him know she was serious.

"I'll be happy to go home by then," Chase promised. And he meant it. He could already feel fatigue dragging him down. "Well, I'm going to go check where they need me," he said, stepping around her and heading into the ER. They sent him straight up to ICU and Chase made his rounds of all the patients, putting off the pediatric section for the moment.

One of the nurses handed him a mug of soup with orders to sit down and eat. So Chase sat in the lounge for a few minutes, sipping at the soup. He wasn't really hungry but he knew he needed to fuel his body. He got out of having to finish it by a code. He took care of that then made his way to pediatrics. There was one patient from the ER he wanted to see.

The kid's name was Tommy and he was eight years old. He and his mother had both been hurt in the accident, and his mother was down the hallway, clinging to life. She was the one who had coded and Chase had been determined to bring her back. But it wasn't going to be easy keeping her alive. He would do what he could though. At the very least until Tommy's father could arrive from Europe. One of the nurses had hunted him down and called him, but it would be at least twenty-four hours before he would arrive.

Running his fingers through his hair, Chase huffed out a breath, mentally preparing himself to step into the room. Tommy was critical but holding his own, but he looked tiny, even in the smaller beds here. Chase plastered a smile on his face as he moved to his bedside, because he could see Tommy watching him. "You should be sleeping," Chase said to him, as he checked all the monitors. Everything looked fine which was a relief.

"I'm scared," Tommy whispered, and his dark eyes welled up with tears. A tiny fist, the one without the IV in it, scrubbed at them.

"I know you're scared," Chase replied, grabbing a chair and pulling it over beside the bed. He sat down then told a story of his own. "I was five the first time I had to go in hospital and I was terrified."

Tommy blinked hard, wiped away the rest of his tears then asked, "What were you in for?"

Chase let the memory of that time drift back over him "I hurt my head."

"How'd you do that?" Tommy looked intrigued.

"Fell down the stairs." Chase didn't add that it was because he'd been running away from his father. From the anger he knew would be coming his way after spilling his juice on his father's papers. He wasn't supposed to be in the office, but as a kid he liked sitting in his father's chair to feel closer to him. "I tripped on the top step and fell all the way to the bottom. It was a good thing I had a hard head."

Tommy nodded, his face a bit pinched and Chase knew he was hurting a bit. "You've got a lot of hair so that had to help," he offered.

Chase chuckled at that. "I suppose it did," he allowed. Rising from the chair he checked Tommy's chart. He could have a topper on his pain meds, so Chase buzzed the nurse. She came in quickly and he pointed to the chart. She disappeared and was back with a syringe in a heartbeat. Chase took it from her and injected the IV himself. He watched Tommy's face, watching his expression smooth out. "Feel better?" he asked.

"Yeah," Tommy replied, his eyelids drooping a bit.

"I'll be back to check on you later," Chase said, patting the thin shoulder.

Tommy moved surprisingly fast and gripped his hand. "Please don't go!" he begged, his lower lip trembling. "I'm scared by myself. I want my mom!"

Chase understood that feeling all too well. "She's close by getting better," he replied, wincing a bit at the fib. But he was hoping it was the truth and that Tommy's mother was a fighter. "But I'll stay for a bit," he added, dropping back down into the chair. Tommy still had a death grip on his hand.

"Would you sing to me?" Tommy asked, his eyes wide now as if fighting sleep.

"Sing to you?" Chase was surprised by the request. It wasn't one he got often. Actually, it wasn't one he got ever.

But Tommy was nodding. "Mom always sings me to sleep. Do you know the turtle song?"

Chase shook his head. "Afraid I don't, but I do know something you might like," he allowed. "Close your eyes," he instructed. When Tommy did, Chase began to sing.

OoO

Cameron was beyond ready to go home. It had been a long day, made longer by the fact that their patient kept presenting new symptoms before they could discover the cause of the old ones. Which made House both cranky and excited. The man did love his puzzles. But he loved to sit at his desk, listening to music and pondering, while she and Foreman did all the footwork. And Chase, when he was there. Thinking about Chase sent Cameron off to ICU to check on him on her way out.

She'd been worried about him for a while now. She cared about Chase. They had worked together the longest and she found him to be a fascinating man, when she took the time to think about him. She'd been so wrapped up in her feelings for House that she seldom found time to focus on anyone else. Although she had focused on Chase long enough to sleep with him. When the itch hit her and Kalvin's jibes had pushed her into taking Meth to loosen up, Cameron hadn't hesitated to call Chase. He was the one who had shown the most concern for her after the blood spray, and she knew that she could manipulate him into sleeping with her, and that he would stop if she changed her mind. The sex had been good. Great in fact, but the day after had been awkward. Cameron had been glad when Chase had handled things with a maturity she hadn't expected, or been capable of in that moment.

So she felt a connection to him and she worried about the fact that he'd become more withdrawn of late. She thought maybe he'd like to talk about it, or about anything. Or maybe she was the one seeking out comfort. Say what you would about Chase, but he wasn't judgmental of people. Maybe it was because he didn't want to make waves, but he didn't judge her and find her wanting and that mattered to Cameron.

Making her way to the front desk of ICU, Cameron asked about Chase and was directed to the pediatric section. Once there she spotted him through the glass walls. Making her way over to the room, she stopped when she heard singing. Easing quietly over to the doorway, Cameron went still and simply listened.

The song sounded like a lullaby and she was stunned to realize that Chase could sing. Really sing. His voice as deep and accented when he sang as when he spoke, just as rich and lyrical, but softer now and with a sweet purity that made her heart ache a bit. Looking at Chase, Cameron saw that his eyes were closed as he sang, and that one hand was caught in the grip of the patient. A slack grip and glancing at the young boy, Cameron could see he was asleep. 

Apparently Chase realized that too because he ended the song abruptly and disentangled his hand before standing up. He then froze as he noticed Cameron in the doorway. Moving to confront her, Chase asked, "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough to hear you sing," Cameron replied. She grabbed his forearm and drew him out into the corridor so they wouldn't wake the boy. "You have a beautiful voice, Chase," Cameron complimented him. "I didn't know you could sing. I didn't recognize the song though." She rambled on, barely taking a breath, wanting to get all her thoughts out before he cut her off. Which was what Chase was fond of doing. Deflecting everything. Nobody did that better, not even House.

"My mother used to sing it to me when I was little," Chase whispered, one hand lifting so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. He looked like he might say more when bells went off. The boy was coding.

Cameron watched as Chase went pale, then he was whirling around, running back to the boy's side and shouting orders even as he was checking the monitors. Moving out of the way so the nurses could get in to help, Cameron kept her gaze on Chase. Until he glanced up at her suddenly, his eyes narrowed and filled with something she couldn't identify. Pain or anger or maybe sadness. Whatever it was, it felt achingly private and Cameron found herself turning away, feeling like she was watching something almost intimate. She left Chase to do his work.

OoO

Chase hadn't expected Tommy to code. He'd been doing fine. He must have missed something. He should have been paying better attention instead of singing stupid lullaby's. Watching Tommy's BP drop, Chase yanked back the sheet and tapped the boy's belly. It was rigid. "He's bleeding out!" he shouted. "Call the OR." The nurses were on the move and unhooking bags and getting the bed rolling even as Chase shouted his orders. Then they were on the run to the elevator, and Chase found himself whispering a prayer.

Two hours later, Tommy was out of surgery and holding his own. Chase didn't go back in his room. He went into the nearest men's room and puked until his throat felt raw. Then he made his way to the locker room and brushed his teeth. He was shaking and pale and he splashed his face with water and combed his fingers through his hair, trying to make himself presentable. Then he went back to the ICU and sat with Tommy's mother.

He didn't hold her hand, but he did pray.

OoO

The next day passed in a blur, then Chase found himself being driven home by Wilson. He stumbled into the house, wondering if he remembered to thank the other man for the ride, then he made it up the stairs and into the bedroom. Vanessa wasn't home and for that he was grateful. Doing nothing more than kick off his shoes, Chase did a faceplant onto the bed and was instantly asleep.

He slept for seven hours, coming awake to a hand on his face. Vanessa asking him if he was all right and he managed to come awake enough to explain that he was just tired. He had to pee so he stumbled into the bathroom, then he realized he felt sweaty and gritty so he took a quick shower and when he stepped back into the bedroom, Vanessa was there with the covers pulled back, guiding him over to lay down. She covered him up then snuggled in beside him, telling Chase to have sweet dreams.

He hoped he would as he drifted back to sleep.

When he came awake again, Vanessa was still sleeping. Chase felt jittery and jumpy and a bit dizzy. He realized he couldn't remember the last time he ate so as soon as he pulled on running clothes and tied on his sneakers, he went to the kitchen. He ate a banana and drank some Gatorade, then he went for a run. He was a bit shaky when he got back, but the anxiety had faded. He made himself eat some toast and finish off the Gatorade before heading for the shower.

Vanessa was awake when he came out.

"I took the day off," she told him. "I've missed you."

"Missed you too," Chase replied, letting her draw him down to the bed. They were content to kiss and touch each other for a time, then they made love with a frenzy that left Chase feeling a bit dizzy. He felt Vanessa curling around him, urging him to sleep, and he gave in to the darkness, letting it carry him away.

He spent the next day and a half sleeping, running and making love with Vanessa. There was a sense of desperation in the way she touched and kissed him, and Chase was half tempted to ask if something was wrong. But everything finally felt right between them, so he said nothing. He didn't want to mess things up the way he usually managed to do.

That night, after Vanessa fell asleep, Chase went for a long run. He came back and ate something, took a shower and a sleeping pill and went to bed. He woke up early, basically repeated the routine, only skipping the sleeping pill and this time getting dressed for work. He thought about Tommy as he did his tie, wondering if he should call again to check on them. He had called twice yesterday to learn that mother and son were holding their own, and Tommy's dad had made it there. 

He decided not to call again. It wasn't something he'd ever done before anyway, but something had felt unfinished this time and the need to know had niggled at him. But he would be at work soon and could check after Tommy once he got there. Finishing up with his tie, Chase slipped on a jacket, brushed a kiss to Vanessa's cheek and slipped out the door.

Once at the hospital, Chase dropped his messenger bag off in the corner and set about making coffee. Once he had a cup poured he would slip off to the ICU for a few minutes, only it turned out he didn't have to make the trip.

"Welcome back, Chase," Cameron said in greeting, as she stepped into the conference room. "You look better."

"Sleep will do that to you," he replied, then he held up a mug. "Coffee?"

She nodded. "Please. Isn't it great news about Tommy and his mother?" Cameron asked, as she joined Chase at the counter.

He poured her a mug, handed it off to her then asked, "What do you mean?" Sudden fear twisted his insides into knots, but they unraveled as Cameron replied.

"They're both doing well and have been moved to regular rooms just this morning." Cameron was smiling as she added sugar to her mug. "I checked on my way in. I would have thought you'd have done the same."

"They're not my patients any longer," Chase countered, keeping his tone neutral. But the relief washed over him in waves, knowing that Tommy was going to be all right. He hadn't screwed things up this time. Or maybe it was more a point of God fixing his mistake before someone else suffered for it. Whatever it was, Chase was grateful and he was going to let it go at that.

Cameron frowned at him. "Doesn't mean you can't ask about them," she countered.

Chase didn't reply as he sat down at the table. But when Cameron joined him he did ask, "How did it go with the case you had?"

"We're still on it," Cameron replied, exhaling a bit of a sigh. "We still haven't figured out what's causing her original symptoms and every time we turn around she has another one."

"Catch me up," Chase requested, knowing that House would expect him to be up to date. So he listened as Cameron outlined the symptoms, then explained the patient history. A thirty-five year old stylist that co-owned a salon with her, bi-sexual, male partner. A partner she was sleeping with. Chase's eyebrows rose at that fact. "Must be an interesting relationship."

Cameron made a face. "Or something."

A thought occurred to Chase, something he needed to talk to Cameron about. "Do me a favor, would you?" he began, and when she looked at him in surprise he finished in a rush, "Don't tell House about me singing. He's got enough stuff to use as ammunition against me."

"Sure, I won't tell him," Cameron replied, frowning a bit. She looked like she had more to say but House entered at that moment, arguing with Foreman.

Chase was glad to end the conversation and he watched his colleagues with amusement. Foreman looked pissed. He soon found out why.

Confronting House by stepping in front of him and halting his progression to the counter, Foreman demanded, "Why do I have to be the one to go to the hair salon? Why don't you send Cameron?"

"Cause she's a girl and would spend all day talking about girly things like hair and nails," House replied, without missing a bit. Then he seemed to notice Chase was there and he smirked, stabbing a finger in his direction. "Tell you what, you can take goldilocks with you, since he finally decided to come back to work. Just don't let him get his nails done."

"You don't need both of us to go," Foreman shot back, looking frustrated.

House shrugged. "Probably not, but I don't need you both here at the moment either," he stated. "Cameron can check on Mrs. what'shername..."

Obligingly, Cameron supplied the actual name. "Ms. Silversmith."

"Whatever," House rolled his eyes. "Just go find us a reason for what ails her."

"Fine!" Foreman groused, his eyes falling on Chase. "Let's go, we'll stop for coffee on the way."

Chase stood, abandoning his freshly brewed mug of the stuff and followed Foreman out. He didn't bother to acknowledge House since the man seemed willing to let him go without further digs. Half an hour later, he and Foreman were at the salon. It reminded Chase of something that would be dramatized in a Hollywood movie. All sleek counters and neon lights and fast talking stylist with over the top personalities. Which included the patient's partner, Guy Roush. He was all black hair and tanned skin and flamboyant style.

He also made Chase uncomfortable by fawning all over him the minute they walked into the place.

"Love the color," Guy cooed, reaching out to touch Chase's hair. "It's natural, isn't it?"

"Um, yeah," Chase replied, trying to ignore the fact that Foreman's eyes were rolling hard enough to about pop out of his head. "Look, I'm Dr. Chase and we're working on your partner's case."

Guy assumed a serious expression. "Poor Lila, how's she doing?" he asked.

Foreman did another eye roll and replied, "Not great. Which is why we're here. Have you introduced any new products recently? Anything that Lila might have had a bad reaction to?"

"Not that I can think of," Guy replied, then he hesitated, looking thoughtful. "There was the dye that gave her a rash. She wore gloves during the coloring of course, but just touching the client's hair after seemed to bother her skin. Ugly rash too, all pink then it got all puss-y and gross." He shuddered for effect before turning his attention back to Chase. "Don't ever let any dyes touch your fabulous hair. By the way, you single?"

"No," Chase replied, then asked, "Can you show us the dye?"

Guy grinned. "Sure thing, beautiful. Right this way." He made a sweeping gesture with one hand for Chase and Foreman to proceed him towards the back.

Foreman went first, still rolling his eyes.

Chase knew better than to respond to Guy's comments. It wasn't the first time a gay man had flirted with him, so he simply followed after Foreman then swallowed a yelp when he felt fingers pinching his ass. He saw Foreman turn back and frown at him, but Chase kept a neutral expression on his face and swept past him. No way was he going to give Foreman, and thereby House, any more ammunition against him. So he settled for ignoring Guy, who kept staring at him, letting Foreman do the talking from this point on.

Ten minutes later they were back in the car with a sample of the dye, which was supposed to be made with all natural ingredients. Not surprisingly, Foreman felt the need to tease Chase all the way back to the Hospital.

"What pretty pretty hair you have, beautiful," Foreman drawled. "Don't ever dye it, it's just too pretty."

"You do that very well," Chase deadpanned, stopping Foreman in his tracks. It was almost pathetically easy to derail people. You just had to not react to them and it took all the wind out of their sails. But Chase knew the torment had just begun. "You're going to tell House about what happened, aren't you?"

Foreman nodded, a big grin splitting his face. "You betcha. Gotta get my rec somehow."

Chase was quiet for a moment, considering. "Anything you can think of I can bribe you with?"

"Maybe," Foreman allowed. "House has me down for his clinic hours tomorrow and I've got a date."

"I'll do them," Chase promised. Anything to keep House from harassing him for months about his hair. The Goldilock comments were bad enough, but at least they weren't constant.

House was waiting for them when they returned, finding the hair dye detail interesting and sending Cameron off with it for testing. He then sent Foreman and Chase to visit the patient and ask her more detailed questions about her rash.

Chase was glad to be off and doing something more hands on productive. It kept his mind off the fact that he was starting to feel jittery again, and kept him too busy to give in to his desire to make a side trip to check on Tommy. The kid was no longer his patient and Chase needed to stay detached, but sometimes that was easier said than done. So he put all his focus on Lila Silversmith, asking all the right questions about the rash, and getting some interesting answers. Until she started gagging and, without warning, projectile vomited all over Chase's shirt.

Which he didn't have time to deal with right away since Lila needed to be intubated. Once they had her breathing again, Foreman headed off to update House and Chase headed for the locker room to shower and change. He was vomit from his shirt to his shoes, including his lab coat, and once he stripped them off he simply shoved them into a bag to be destroyed. The shower actually felt good, and he had to fight the urge to linger under the hot spray. He did indulge himself for a few minutes though, and was only half dressed by the time Foreman came looking for him.

Chase pretended not to notice Foreman staring at him as he pulled on his shirt. "So what did House say?" he asked, as a distraction.

"He said run more tests, which Cameron is now doing," Foreman replied, then he went back to staring at Chase. "Man, you need to put some flesh on your bones," he stated. "I can count your damn ribs."

"And that's your concern, why?" Chase shot back, as he finished buttoning his shirt and went about tucking it into his pants. He felt his chest tighten as panic fluttered over him. No one was supposed to notice anything, no one was supposed to be paying attention and Chase could feel his heart start thudding hard against said ribs.

Foreman had the grace to shrug. "Whatever, man. Just making an observation. By the way, House wants you to help Cameron."

Chase nodded as he pulled on a clean lab coat. "Fine." He then went to the mirror to brush his damp hair back, then he was ready to leave, which he did without a backwards glance at Foreman. He joined Cameron in the lab and helped her with the samples. They ran a multitude of tests, some of them taking time to get the results and Chase told Cameron to head off when she said she wanted to run out for lunch.

It was late afternoon when they all reconvened in the conference room to discuss the results. Cameron had brought back a cheese cake which House told her to dole out, not being stingy with the size of each piece. Chase declined a piece until Foreman called him on it.

"You need to eat the whole damn cake to put some flesh back on your skinny white ass, man," Foreman stated, shaking his head at Chase. "Lord knows you can afford the calories and then some."

"Jealous?" Chase shot back, making a show of taking a big bite, and instantly regretting it when his stomach recoiled. But he took a gulp of his coffee to wash it down and keep it there.

Foreman snorted. "Jealous of what?"

House couldn't not intervene at this point. "Because you have a fat ass and he doesn't," he stated, looking almost gleeful.

"Whiteboy doesn't have an ass," Foreman shot back, but he looked a bit disgruntled before taking a bite of his own slice of dessert.

"Can we get back on subject?" Cameron interjected.

Chase felt grateful to her because House had been watching him with rapt attention and it was starting to make him nervous.

House took a huge bite of his cheesecake, taking time to savor it, then he said, "I know what's wrong." He grinned at the surprise on their faces, took a moment to explain, then sent them off to start treatment.

Chase was the first one out the door, leaving his slice behind. He didn't see the way House studied his retreating form, or the fact that he later stared at Chase's mostly untouched cheesecake, with a mixed expression of concern and anger. If he had been aware, he would have been worried.

OoO

House cornered Wilson in the cafeteria during supper hour. He sat down, dropping his plate with his sandwich onto the table, then settling himself into his chair. "Have you seen Chase eat?"

"Is that a trick question?" Wilson countered.

"Probably," House allowed, before taking a bite of his Rueben. "But answer it anyway." This said around a mouthful of food.

Wilson frowned at him, pushing his own empty plate aside. "I'm not sure what you're looking for. I mean, do you want to know if he's a neat or messy eater?"

House snorted, swallowed, then washed down the bite with a swallow of soda. "I'm asking if you see him eat, here at the hospital."

"We have lunch on occasion, or did a few times. He eats." Wilson looked confused.

"Does he eat a lot?" House prompted.

Wilson narrowed his gaze at him. "What's going on?"

House sighed. "Just answer the question. Does he eat a lot?"

"I wasn't really paying attention," Wilson replied, frowning in concentration as if trying to remember. "Not a lot a lot, I guess."

"That's what I figured," House replied, before taking another bite of his sandwich. He was used to seeing Chase drink a lot of coffee, or chew on things, including candy and such. But he couldn't recall the Aussie ever really tucking into a meal. Of course it wasn't as if they had meals together or anything, but thinking back, House realized it was plain as day that Chase was steadily losing weight. He had noticed it a time or two, but had put it down to stress. Between the Vogler thing, his father's death and the mistake made with Kayla, Chase had been under duress for months. Losing some weight wasn't unexpected. But for Foreman to comment on it, that had to mean something and House was going to find out what.

Pushing back his chair he gathered his sandwich and made to leave. "Thanks for your...help," House taunted, smirking at Wilson.

Wilson sighed. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

"No." House grinned and walked away, but the smile faded as he walked out the door.

OoO

Chase was tired and looking forward to going home. He wanted to go for a run, then fall into bed and sleep. Preferably for a week, not that he'd ever be able to do that, but it sounded good in theory. He was in the elevator, heading for the diagnostic floor so he could grab his bag, when he got paged. By House. Heaving a sigh of resignation, Chase stepped off the elevator and made his way to his boss's office.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked, stepping into the room, and he was a bit surprised Wilson was there, sitting off in the corner. Chase nodded to him then focused on House. The sooner he dealt with whatever the man wanted, the sooner he could get out of here.

"Hence the page," House replied, and there was a smirk on his face, but it was devoid of humor. He had his cane in his right hand and he used it as a pointer, tapping the end on an object that rested on the floor. "Not the most accurate we could find, but the other scales were too big and bulky to steal without anyone noticing. It'll do in a pinch however," he drawled, then his eyes locked on Chase's face as he ordered, "Step on."

Chase felt himself grow pale, fear erupting from deep inside him and the ensuing panic made him dizzy enough to have to clutch the edge of House's desk to stay on his feet. He blinked hard to bring the digital scale back into focus as he stared at it, and at the tip of House's cane that was still tapping it. The sound of each tap was loud and echoed in his ears.

Wilson seemed to notice Chase's condition and he was on his feet and by his side, his voice soft with concern. "Do you want to sit for a minute?" he asked.

"No," Chase whispered, then he took a deep breath and expelled some of the dizziness along with his exhale. Swallowing hard and mustering up his courage, Chase faced House. "What's going on?" he asked, even though it was pretty clear that House had taken Foreman's earlier comments about him to heart.

"You've lost weight and I want to know how much," House replied, his gaze holding Chase's without wavering. "So step up." He tapped the scale again.

Chase shook his head. "Whether or not I've lost weight is none of your damn business!" he shot back.

House's expression grew grim. "It's my business because you work for me," he replied. "I can't have sick doctors doing doctoring stuff. Makes me look bad."

"Shut up," Wilson interjected, and he was glaring at House. He then looked at Chase. "We're just trying to help," he offered.

"I don't need your help!" Chase snapped, and he could feel himself losing control of everything and it made him feel sick. The walls of the office were mostly glass, but they felt like they were closing in on him.

House was on his feet. He tapped one foot on the scale to make a zero appear, then he looked at Chase and ordered, "Get on the scale. Now."

Chase swallowed hard, forcing back the bile that was trying to pool in his throat and choke him. He shook his head and tried to back away, but Wilson was right behind him. "No," he repeated. "I won't."

That's when House lunged at him, fingers gripping his shirt and ripping it open. The action stunned Chase to the point where he froze, unresponsive to the fingers that were now running over his exposed ribs. He still didn't move when House gripped his arm and studied his wrist. It wasn't until House released him and stepped away that Chase was able to attempt to rebutton his shirt with shaky hands, only to realize most of the buttons were now missing. "You ruined my shirt," was the first thing out of his mouth.

"I'll buy you a new one," House replied. "One that actually matches your tie." He dropped back down into his chair then nodded at the scale. "Get on," he ordered once more.

"No," Chase whispered, because he had to stand his ground.

But Wilson was still beside him, nudging him forward. "We've seen the proof, Chase. Just get on the scale and we'll help you deal with this."

Chase felt his chest tighten with panic as he asked, "With what?" Even though he didn't want to hear the response. Because if they said it then his secret was out.

"You're anorexic," House announced.

Hysterical laughter bubbled out of Chase because that was ridiculous. He wasn't anorexic, he ate. House was wrong for once and Chase would prove it to him. "I'm not," he said, even as he stepped on the scale. He watched the numbers blur for a moment then settle and what he saw made him feel a bit sick because it couldn't be true. He ate every day, every meal. He wasn't anorexic.

House had seen the numbers too. "Twenty plus pounds underweight. I'll give you a few pounds to the good though, since you weren't exactly ideal weight to begin with."

"Why don't you pick on Cameron!" Chase suddenly snarled, feeling the need to defend himself. He stepped off the fucking scale and rounded on House. "She's a fucking toothpick! Go harass her and leave me alone!"

"Cameron's not anorexic," House replied. "You are. And we're going to help you fix that."

Chase shook his head, resisting the urge to clap his hands over his ears and scream so he wouldn't have to listen to this. "I don't need your help. I don't need fixing!"

Wilson started to reply to that when Chase's pager went off. He grabbed it and was surprised to see Vanessa's name with the message I'm Sorry. "I have to go," Chase stated, already turning and running for the door. He didn't know if House or Wilson tried to follow, but he took the stairs just to be sure. He'd left his coat and bag in the office but that didn't matter. Chase was out the door and in his car and heading for home in no time. As he drove he tried to call Vanessa on his cell. No answer. He tried over and over again with no answer and by the time he reached the house he was practically in a full blown panic.

Running for the door, Chase fumbled with his keys. He unlocked it and bolted inside, calling Vanessa's name. No reply. Running up the stairs, Chase was almost stumbling in his haste to reach the bedroom. His insides went cold when he spotted Vanessa's form on the floor. Beside her was a pool of vomit and Chase had a flashback to his mother. It rocked him hard enough to make him dizzy, sending him to his knees beside Vanessa. He had to put his head down for a moment to clear it, even as he reached out to check Vanessa's pulse. Nothing. Chase snapped himself into focus, starting compressions with one hand even as he dialed 911 with the other. He gave them the address and other information needed then he tossed the phone and started two handed compressions. He didn't stop until the ambulance arrived.

He heard them say she was breathing as they loaded her into the ambulance. The EMT asked him questions and Chase was pretty sure he answered them as they raced to the hospital with sirens wailing. He stayed out of the way when they got there, but followed close behind until they reached the emergency room. Then hands pulled him back into the waiting area and Chase recognized one of the nurses. He felt her fussing over him and only then realized he was still wearing the ruined shirt and that she was buttoning up his lab coat to cover him. He thought he thanked her before pulling away to pace.

It wasn't long before he heard the alarms go off, and he knew Vanessa was coding. Chase moved to the open doors so he could hear what was being said. He reached them as she flatlined and he closed his eyes, not needing to see them to know what they were doing. Abruptly the sound stopped. Someone had turned off the monitor. Chase listened for it, the doctor calling the time of death. Instinctively he checked his own watch, the hospital clock was a minute slow. Or he was fast. It didn't matter.

Backing away until he hit a wall, Chase felt his legs turn to jello. He slid down till he was sitting. He didn't hear the nurse call his name.

He didn't hear her make a call to House.

**THE END...of part 10**


	11. Chapter 11

**REWIND...part 11**

They asked him questions, the nurses. Chase answered them from the floor because his body refused to obey his commands to get up. He told them Vanessa's name and gave them Dr. Stewart's phone number so they could get her medical history. He signed off on the form for an autopsy, even though he was pretty sure he knew the cause of death. It was an insignificant factor now.

At some point they rolled the gurney with her body out the door and past him and Chase didn't look up from his contemplation of the floor. He didn't want to remember her face lax and pallid and still. The memory of his mother's face in death was still etched in Chase's mind and he had been spared that with Vanessa. It was a stupid comfort but it was all he had to cling to.

"Chase?"

He blinked and looked up to see Wilson crouching down beside him. He didn't have to turn his head to know that House was on his other side, but standing. Chase could feel him there. He looked at Wilson. "I'm not anorexic," he stated, because he needed him and House to know that.

Wilson just reached for him, grabbing his arm and hauling Chase to his feet with far to great an ease. "Let's get you settled in," he said, trying to guide Chase down the hallway.

"Settled?" Chase echoed, trying to dig in his heels. He wasn't sure what that meant, or if he wanted to know.

"We're going to admit you for a few days. Take care of you," Wilson replied in a voice that was soft and meant to be soothing. No doubt the voice he used to deliver bad news to his dying patients.

Chase tried to pull away. "I don't need taking care of!" he snapped. "I have things to do. I have to arrange the funeral and call people." He knew the lawyer would actually do all that stuff. One night Vanessa had told him that she'd had everything taken care of in case she died. That way he wouldn't have to deal with anything. He had ended that conversation abruptly, thinking at the time that they probably wouldn't be together that long. And it hadn't been all that long. Not long enough. She wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed to save her.

Wilson was pulling him along again. "We'll sort everything out," he promised.

"No, we won't." Chase felt like laughing, but he was too hollow inside to make the proper sound. He tried to pull away from Wilson but his knees buckled and he had to put a hand out against the wall to catch himself. "I have to go home," he whispered, only he wasn't sure where that was for him. Not Vanessa's place, because that was too empty. Maybe a hotel room for now. He wanted to be alone where it was quiet, where there weren't so many voices whispering in his head.

"You're not going anywhere but into a room here, Chase," House interjected.

Chase lifted his head to find House standing in front of him. He wasn't glaring and he didn't sound angry. In fact, he looked almost sad and Chase wondered why. He was almost curious enough to ask but suddenly dark spots started dancing before his eyes and everything faded to gray with a rush of noise filling his head. Then everything went black and he was falling into silence.

OoO

House didn't look up as Wilson set a cup of coffee in front of him. They were in his office, the lights off, relying only on the dim light of early morning to see by. Neither one of them had slept much, both crashing on couches. That Wilson had stayed surprised House a little. For all that he'd sent his friend to bond with Chase, he knew the two weren't exactly friends. Or maybe they had moved in that direction over time. Not that it mattered.

"How's Chase doing?" Wilson asked, as he settled into a chair with his own cup of bad coffee.

"Why don't you tell me?" House countered, as he grabbed his coffee and made a face at the smell. Cameron made better coffee and hers usually tasted like tar. He put it back on his desk and settled for popping a Vicodin. "I'm sure you made a pit stop in his room before coming up here."

Wilson didn't deny it. "He's still out, probably the best sleep he's had in a while."

House nodded. "He'll need it. Waking up and facing reality...this particular reality...is going to suck the big one."

"Can't argue with you there," Wilson allowed, as he focused his attention on his coffee. He looked morose.

"Got a phone call while you were gone," House announced. In fact he had hung up just before Wilson had appeared.

Wilson straightened in his chair a bit, curiosity glittering in his eyes. "Who from?"

House grabbed his striped ball and tossed it from hand to hand as he spoke. "From a Dr. Adam Stewart. Seems Vanessa is his patient. He didn't seem all that surprised by her death, actually. But he did ask me to tell Chase that everything will be taken care of. Like the autopsy and such." Not than an autopsy was needed, House thought to himself. He'd learned from the EMT's that had brought Vanessa to the hospital that she'd been lying beside and empty bottle of Vodka. House would have bet a million dollars at that being the cause of her death.

"That will make things easier on Chase," Wilson commented. "Lord knows he's got enough to deal with. Poor kid can't catch a break."

"It's not like he loved her," House interjected, feeling a bit irritated and taking it out on Wilson. Nothing new there and he knew his friend would let it roll off him like water off a duck's back.

Wilson glared at House, but there wasn't much heat behind it. He looked more resigned than anything. "You don't know that," he countered. "Chase asked me about...stuff..." he broke off as if realizing he was about to tell a secret he wasn't supposed to tell.

But House could guess what about. Love. That icky thing that some people truly believed made the world a better place. "Chase was in love with the idea of being in love with Vanessa," he stated, and he saw Wilson give a start of surprise, which meant he'd hit the nail on the head. No fun in it though, not when it was a no brainer.

"Real or imagined, it's going to affect him," Wilson said quietly.

"She did him a favor," House countered sharply, pushing out of his chair and limping over to the window. The sun seemed obscenely bright now, as if mocking him. It sure as hell wasn't helping his headache any. Apparently, neither was the pill he'd taken.

Wilson made a sound of disapproval before protesting. "What? By dying like his mother did? Yeah, that's one hell of a favor! Chase had enough issues he wasn't dealing with. How the hell is he going to handle this?"

House heaved a sigh, scrubbing a hand over his gritty face before turning around to face his friend. "He doesn't have to try and save her anymore," he said quietly. "That's what was destroying him little by little. He knew he couldn't save her but he was damn well going to try, even if it killed him."

"I'd say it probably came close," Wilson interjected. "He didn't handle our intervention very well."

"He will," House stated, and he meant it. Even if he had to kick Chase in the ass until he got with the program. His Aussie Duckling was going to pick up the shattered pieces of himself, put them back together and get back to work. No way in hell was House going to do another interview. He didn't want a replacement. Chase was a puzzle he still hadn't figured out and he wasn't ready to push him from the nest until he had.

Wilson seemed to accept House at his word. After a long moment of a rather awkwardly comfortable silence he queried, "Are you going to tell Cameron and Foreman what happened?"

House shrugged. "They're going to notice Chase is a patient again and I don't think he's going to be able to hide the fact he's broken. Foreman's already figured out he's lost too much weight."

"Maybe they can help Chase deal with what's happened," Wilson suggested.

"They're not exactly friends," House reminded him. Not that friendship was a requirement. He knew that his ducklings felt a certain protectiveness towards each other, even if they didn't realize it existed. And sometimes it was easier to accept help from people you didn't consider friends. No messy emotional ties that way. And if House knew anything about Chase, it was that the Aussie doctor didn't like to deal with anything even remotely emotional. He had more defense and deflect mechanisms than House did. And that was saying something, because he knew his own arsenal was pretty damn impressive.

Wilson pushed out of his own chair and headed for the door. "I'll go tell Cuddy, you tell your underlings."

It was a fair enough deal, but one House had every intention of reneging on, so he said nothing. He simply watched him go.

OoO

It wasn't that much of a surprise to Wilson that House left it up to him to tell Cameron and Foreman about Chase. He decided to call them into his own office to break the news. They would have more privacy there than in the conference room, or House's glass-walled office.

"Have a seat," he invited, gesturing to the chairs opposite his desk.

"What's going on?" Cameron asked, even as she took a seat.

Foreman had a few questions of his own as he sat down beside her. "Where's House? And why isn't Chase here?"

Wilson sighed, wishing he could have just taped an explanation and left it for them to listen to. "I called you in here to talk about Chase," he began. "As for House, your guess is as good as mine." Although he expected his friend was with Chase at the moment. Either that or he was riding around town on his bike, or maybe home with his favorite hooker. Wilson had long ago learned not to even try to second guess House.

"What happened to Chase?" Cameron prompted, and her eyes were big and dark with anxiety.

"That's not an easy question to answer," Wilson replied. To be honest, he wasn't sure where to begin. He took a moment to make a choice, then began. "Vanessa died last night." He watched Foreman and Cameron as he spoke and he couldn't miss their shocked reactions.

Cameron covered her mouth with both hands, eyes going wide with shock.

Foreman's reaction was more subtle and he recovered immediately to ask, "How did she die?"

"Basically...she drank herself to death." Wilson knew that wouldn't have the impact to them that it did to him and House. He knew Chase had never told his colleagues about his mother. He wondered if they even knew that both of Chase's parents were dead. He was pretty sure they didn't know about Rowan Chase either.

"Where's Chase?" Cameron asked, seemingly having pulled herself together, but she still looked a bit pale and shaky.

Wilson sighed then delivered the rest of the bad news. "He's here as a patient, which is something we need to discuss."

Cameron was on her feet, looking like she was going to rush out the door. Maybe to see Chase. But then she stiffened and took a step closer to Wilson's desk. "Why is he a patient? He didn't do something...I mean...he didn't..."

"She's trying to ask if he tried to off himself or something," Foreman coldly interjected, and he got an icy glare from Cameron for his trouble.

"No, not directly," Wilson replied, because he had decided to be completely candid with them about Chase's condition. The Aussie could keep his personal life private if he liked, but his health issues were going to be open to the public, so to speak. And since Chase had no one but himself to blame for his current situation, Wilson didn't feel even a lick of guilt for what he was about to say. "I don't suppose it'll be all that much of surprise, at least not to you, Foreman," Wilson began. "But House and I confronted Chase last night and House has diagnosed him as anorexic. Mind you, it's borderline right now which means we've caught it in plenty of time to turn things around." 

Foreman snorted in disbelief. "Borderline my ass. Or should I say Chase's skinny white ass?"

It was Cameron who responded, whirling on Foreman. "If you knew what was happening, why didn't you say something? Or better yet, why didn't you do something?"

"I'm not saying I knew about it," Foreman countered, shaking his head at her as if he couldn't believe she was mad at him. "Chase and I aren't exactly buddies so I wasn't paying all that close attention to him. He's been doing his job and walking around acting like he usually does. Maybe I should have noticed something was off, but I didn't." It was his turn to glare at Cameron. "Why didn't you notice something? Since you're in the mood to fling blame at someone."

"I should have noticed," Cameron allowed, sinking back into her chair and looking morose.

Wilson didn't have the patience for their guilt trips or petty arguments. "Chase deflects attention from himself any way he can. He's in a class of his own when it comes to throwing out diversionary tactics. This isn't about blaming ourselves or each other. All that matters now is that we do what we can to fix him."

Foreman looked skeptical. "What if he doesn't want to be fixed?"

"House isn't going to let that be an option," Wilson countered. Which was a simple fact they all knew.

"Good point," Foreman conceded. "He's probably going to harass Chase into getting better."

Cameron looked tearful as she spoke up, "How's he handling Vanessa's death?"

Wilson wasn't sure how to answer that, so he went with the truth. "I don't know. He collapsed and we've got him lightly sedated and hooked up to an IV for fluids and nutrients. He's in rough shape physically so it's going to hamper his emotional stability. Until he wakes up I can't say how he's going to handle things."

"Probably with the same detachment he always does," Foreman replied.

"Or by trying to drown himself in alcohol," Cameron interjected, sounding horrified. "He tried that before and nearly died."

Wilson knew that Cameron was fixated on the thought that Chase might be suicidal, but he didn't think that was a concern. Chase's actions to date had been a cry for help, albeit one he doubted the Aussie was aware he was broadcasting. Chase had tried to cocoon himself in his need for privacy, but it was unraveling around him and he was going to have to deal with being exposed to his colleagues, and deal with the fact that he was going to need help to get better. "I don't think Chase wants to die," Wilson said softly. "In a way he has been punishing himself, but I think it's more out of guilt. I think what he's doing is his version of penance."

Foreman looked confused. "Penance for what? I know Kayla died, but he needs to get past that. He made a mistake that any one of us could have made, and given that all he got for it was a suspension...he obviously had one hell of a good excuse."

"It's going to be up to Chase to face whatever his personal demons might be," Wilson countered, his tone a bit sharp. Knowing what Chase's excuse was for his mistake regarding Kayla, and keeping it a secret, was a surprisingly difficult burden to bear at this moment. But that wasn't what he had to deal with right now, Wilson reminded himself. He eyed both Foreman and Cameron, leaning forward over his desk in an attempt to convey how serious the matter at hand was. "What I need to know from the two of you right now is whether or not you want to be a part of helping Chase get better."

"In what way?" Foreman asked.

Wilson was prepared for that question. "Chase is going to need a support group. The thing is, if you do want to help then you're going to have to stick with it and follow through until the end. The last thing Chase needs right now is people backing out on him."

Cameron looked grim but determined as she countered with, "What do you need us to do?"

OoO

He came back to awareness in staggered increments. He was aware of familiar noises that offered an uneasy comfort and allowed him to drift back into warm darkness. But the darkness shaded to gray and he felt an ache in his head and a vague sense of nausea that ended up pulling him fully into consciousness. He opened his eyes and was greeted with a brightness that made him wince. It took a moment of blinking hard to bring his surroundings into focus. He was in a hospital room. The same private room he had been in last time. 

He felt sore and achy and his mouth was dry. Chase shifted about, trying to get more comfortable as he took in his present position. He remembered everything that had happened. Finding Vanessa, the ride to the hospital, the time of her death. The sound of the doctor's voice making the call echoed in his head. He waited to feel grief or guilt or pain. To feel something. But he felt eerily detached from it all. Detached, tired, and uncertain of what to do next.

Lifting a hand to push back the hair that was falling in his eyes, Chase felt a painful tug on his skin and was surprised to see an IV attached. He turned his head and looked up to the bags on the hook behind him and he recognized that he was being given fluids and nutrients. Which reminded him of his conversation with House in his office. He didn't have a problem and he wasn't anorexic, but Chase knew that House wasn't going to let the matter drop. Which was why he intended to be long gone from here before his boss showed up.

But even as he made a move towards yanking the covers back, a nurse appeared beside him, her friendly face etched with concern.

"How are you feeling, Dr. Chase?" she queried.

"I'm fine," Chase replied. Or rather, croaked. He coughed a bit against the dryness in his throat and was grateful when she offered him a cup of water. He took a few sips then handed it back. "I'd like to sign out now, Amy." Chase vaguely remembered her from his rounds at the hospital, but he got her name off the tag pinned to her smock.

She shook her head. "Dr. House left orders for you to stay put until he talked to you. I've already paged him so he should be on his way."

Chase resisted the urge to groan at the information. He ended up being distracted by the fact that, after checking his IV, Amy settled herself in a nearby chair and picked up a magazine already opened to a page. "Have you been sitting with me?" he asked, unable to hide his surprise at the thought.

"Dr. House requested that someone be with you at all times," Amy replied. "Is that a problem?"

"No." Chase smiled as he lied, but it was a problem. Because he couldn't help but wonder why House thought he needed watching. It didn't make him angry like he thought it would. He didn't feel anything beyond the throbbing pain in his temples and a sense of indifference. Shifting onto his side, Chase closed his eyes. He wished he could simply will himself out of here. But his wishes were in vain and all too soon he heard a familiar step-thump and when he turned back it was to see House striding into the room.

Waving a hand at Amy, House said to her, "You can go," in a tone that was dismissive and bordering on rude.

She gave him a look of annoyance that he ignored, then she smiled at Chase and waved before exiting the room.

House made his way to Chase's bedside, a grim expression on his face. "We need to talk."

"Can't think about what," Chase responded, without hesitation. They weren't friends, House wasn't his doctor or his keeper, so there was nothing to discuss other than how soon he was going to release him. A point he figured was worth mentioning. "I'd like to leave now, so if you could sign me out I'd appreciate it."

"That's very funny." However, House didn't sound amused as he grabbed the chair Amy had vacated, pulled it over and sat down. He held his cane between his legs as he locked his gaze on Chase. Then he announced, "I'm here to discuss the rules."

Chase shifted around to face him, frowning a bit as he did so. "What rules?" He had to ask even though he knew he wasn't going to like the answer.

House almost smiled. "The House rules on how to feed and nurture an idiot Aussie back to health."

"I don't need your stupid rules," Chase replied, and there was no anger in his tone. Maybe he just lacked the energy to get pissed off. Locking eyes with House he stated, "I have arrangements to make for Vanessa's funeral and...other things." Personal things that weren't House's business. All the man had to do was sign the release form and Chase would be out of here. Only he knew House wasn't going to make it that easy.

"Dr. Stewart and Vanessa's lawyers have arranged everything while you were napping," House replied, and he was watching Chase intently as he spoke, as if waiting for some reaction of sorts. When Chase didn't respond he continued. "The funeral is in two days. If you behave yourself and do as you're told, I might let you go to it."

Chase closed his eyes and whispered, "You can't control my life." Although House was just one more person in a long line of people who had done exactly that his entire life.

House stared at Chase for a long moment, making him have to resist the urge to squirm beneath his intense regard, then he was leaning back in his chair before rattling off a list of conditions. So to speak. "You're going back into therapy, don't even think about arguing the point. You don't get a choice."

"When do I ever?" Chase muttered beneath his breath, but from the look on House's face, he'd heard him. Chase didn't care.

"You're also going to have food buddies," House continued. "Oh...and you'll probably end up sitting in on a few group sessions for Anorexia. That will be up for the head doc to decide though. She might figure you don't play well with others."

Chase stared at House in disbelief. "Food buddies?" he echoed, not at all certain what that meant.

House nodded. "Cameron, Foreman, Cuddy and Wilson. When you're here one of them will eat with you to check your input. And you will have weekly weigh ins. Bi-weekly if necessary, to make sure you're not cheating."

"I'm not anorexic," Chase repeated, getting tired of hearing himself say it already. "And I'm not doing those things."

"Then you're quitting your job?" House asked.

Chase blinked at him. "Quitting? No. Why would you think that?"

House stood up, moving closer to Chase and almost looming over him. "Because if you don't follow the rules you don't get to come back to work here. And if that's the case you might as well quit now."

"You can't do that!" Chase felt a flutter of fear and panic, and he almost welcomed it. It was better than the dead and empty feeling from before.

"Sure I can. I can do this too." As House spoke he leaned in a bit more then stated, "You're fired."

Chase shook his head, feeling sudden nausea coiling through his stomach. This moment felt surreal, yet he could see by the look in House's eyes that he meant what he said. "Don't fire me," Chase whispered.

House pulled back, easing himself down into the chair again. "I won't if you do as you're told and obey the rules."

"I'm not sick," Chase whispered, like a plea. Only it fell on deaf ears and he knew it.

"That you say that and actually believe it is proof of what a mess you really are," House replied, and it wasn't said unkindly. "You'll be here for a couple of days to rehydrate and get some rest, then you can go home. But I expect you back to work after the funeral. You don't need to be lollygagging around home, wallowing in guilt."

Chase doubted he would wallow in anything, since he couldn't seem to conjure up anything but fear and nausea. "You're going to trust me at home?" He had to ask because given all the other rules House had spouted at him, it seemed unlikely he would be allowed home without a keeper.

House grinned at him. "Wilson will be staying with you nights and weekends. It's the perfect arrangement all around, really. I get my couch back, Wilson gets a place to park his stuff, and you have someone to keep an eye on you."

"I don't need a baby sitter." Nor did he want one. He wanted to be left alone, but when did he ever get what he wanted.

"It's your choice, Chase," House replied. "You do what you have to do to get better...or you quit. What's it going to be?"

He knew it wasn't much of a choice, but maybe he could pretend he had some control over something in his life. "I'm not quitting," he whispered.

House looked pleased. "Glad to hear it, because I really hate conducting interviews."

"You made Cuddy interview Foreman," Chase reminded him.

"Good point," House allowed, then he was rising to his feet as a nurse entered the room with a tray. He pulled back the chair and watched as she put the tray on the tray table, then rolled it over Chase's lap. "Lunch is served," House announced, almost gleefully.

Chase didn't have his watch on but he was pretty sure it was still morning. Not that it mattered either way. He wasn't hungry. He made a face at the toast and juice on the plate, then made to push the table away. But House stopped him.

Eyes locked on Chase's, House ordered, "You eat every bite of toast and drink every drop of juice or the deal's off."

"I'm not hungry." Chase didn't snap back, he just spoke softly and he could see that House was getting more irritated by the minute.

"Eat!" House demanded.

Anger flared a bit and Chase mustered up a glare for House. "No!" he shot back, one hand going for the tray.

But House was on to him. "Knock that on the floor and I'll put you in restraints and force feed you. Then I'll shove a feeding tube up your nose."

"Bastard!" Chase hissed, because he knew House meant it. He would do that to him in a heartbeat. Anything to make Chase just that much more miserable. He thought about knocking the tray off anyway, just because it would surprise House if he did, but Chase didn't have the energy it would take to deal with the fallout of his actions, so he simply reached for a piece of toast and took a bite.

"Good boy," House said approvingly, moving to sit again, this time in the corner where he'd left the chair.

Swallowing the bite down wasn't easy and Chase felt like gagging. He had to sip some juice to make it go all the way down but his stomach wasn't happy about it. Still, he forced himself to take another bite under House's watchful gaze, but that meant more juice. Bite three defeated him and Chase started to gag in earnest.

House grabbed an emesis basin and shoved it under his chin. "Guess we ixnay the toast for now. We'll start with liquids in an hour or so."

"Fine," Chase whispered, after getting his gag reflex under control. Bile burned in his throat but slid back down and he took a sip of juice to ease raw feeling and get rid of the taste of it. He put the glass down then pushed the tray away and let himself fall back into the pillows. "Will you leave me alone now?" It was a plea and he didn't care.

"You can't be trusted to be alone," House replied, a grim expression on his face.

Chase sighed and curled up on his side. "Like you care what happens to me," he mumbled. He was tired to the bone and his eyes were drifting closed.

House didn't reply to that, instead he stated, "Behave or you'll regret it." Then he turned and limped out of the room.

Chase listened to the silence when he was gone.

OoO

He dozed in fitful stretches. The first time he woke up, Amy was there again and she helped him out of bed and into the bathroom. Chase relieved himself then washed his hands and splashed water on his face. He avoided his reflection, not wanting to see a reflection of the man he had become. He knew he had yet to be the man he wanted to be and he had no one to blame for that, but himself.

"Chase?"

He recognized Cameron's voice and wished he could hide in the bathroom indefinitely. He liked her and considered them to be friends of a sort, but he wasn't in the mood for her particular brand of sympathy. It felt too much like pity from where Chase was standing. But he knew he couldn't hide so he opened the door and she was standing right there, waiting to help him back to bed. It was easier to let her than to argue with her.

Cameron fussed with the covers once Chase was settled back in bed, then her hands went still and she looked up to meet his eyes. "I'm so sorry about Vanessa."

"Me too," Chase replied, dropping his gaze to the blankets. He plucked at one end that was fraying, willing Cameron to take the hint and leave.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she offered. And she went so far as to take hold of his other hand and squeeze it. 

He knew she was trying to offer him comfort, but Chase didn't want it. He didn't need it. He wasn't grieving the way he should have been. Maybe he had used up all his grief with his mum and dad. "I'd rather not, but thanks," he replied.

Cameron squeezed his hand again, then released it. She then started checking his IV's, as if needing something to do as a distraction. "So...how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine." Chase abhorred small talk and he wished he had it in him to just tell her to leave. But he couldn't, simply because she wasn't trying to interfere in his life or learn something about him that wasn't any of her business, like she had when his dad had come to visit. All she was doing was being kind. He couldn't fault her for that.

"Um...did House tell you that I'm one of your food buddies?" She was obviously uncomfortable, but she kept plugging away at the small talk.

Chase nodded. "Yeah, he told me. Why are you?" He really was curious to know. Why would she bother?

Cameron looked surprised by the question, but replied readily enough. "Because I want to help you."

"Why?" Chase prompted. "We're not exactly good friends."

"We're not enemies," she pointed out, smiling as she did so.

Chase felt himself almost smiling back. "I guess," he allowed.

Cameron sighed and reached out to squeeze his arm this time. "I'd like to think that if things were reversed, you'd want to help me."

"Maybe I should," Chase countered, feeling anger stirring up again and it was almost pathetic of him to be glad to feel something. "You're the one who's anorexic," he continued. "I'm not!"

"I usually get accused of being bulimic," Cameron shot back, and there was a bit of anger flashing in her eyes. But she quelled it and softened her tone as she continued. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Chase. In fact, it's understandable even."

Chase pulled his arm away, letting his head fall back against the pillow so he wouldn't have to see the sincerity shining in her eyes. "I'm not anorexic," he whispered. "I eat."

Cameron was quiet a moment and he thought maybe she'd just go away, but no such luck. After a moment she said, "I think that you're borderline, Chase. We caught it in time to help you reverse it easily enough. It's a control issue and I think you can lick the physical aspects of it with a bit of help, then you can focus on what caused it in the first place."

"Been sneaking in psych rotations when no one was looking?" Chase taunted, and he still wasn't looking at her. Not until he felt her fingertips brush his cheek. Then he looked at her and saw sincerity in her eyes, not pity. It made his own eyes burn and he closed them tight. He hadn't cried for Vanessa, he hadn't cried for his dad. He hadn't cried since his mum died and even then it had taken six weeks for the tears to come. He'd be damned if he'd cry now. There was nothing to cry about. Nothing had changed. Just like always he ended up alone. That was his life.

"Sometimes I think you are your own worst enemy," Cameron said softly.

He pulled away from her touch and said a bit sharply, "Not your problem!"

Cameron didn't turn away at that. "I'm not walking away from you, Chase." It sounded like she was making a promise.

"You think I'm broken!" he countered, still not looking at her. "That's why you're here. But I'm not broken. I don't need fixing!" He was getting angry again and anger was better than tears.

"Everyone needs fixing, Chase." Cameron patted his shoulder then there was a scuffling sound as she turned away before heading for the door. "I'll be back to visit later," she called over her shoulder.

Chase listened to her footsteps fade away, curling himself up tighter into a ball, his eyes squeezed shut. He wondered why her promise sounded more like a threat than comfort. Then he wondered why he cared at all.

**THE END...of part 11**


	12. Chapter 12

**REWIND...part 12**

The worst thing about being a patient in the hospital was how it made a person lose track of time. Chase hated not being able to keep tabs on the hour, or even the day really, without having to ask someone. He was just about to question Amy again when Foreman walked into the room.

"How's it going?" he asked, even as he grabbed for Chase's chart and studied it.

"What are you doing here?" Chase countered, feeling a bit suspicious. He figured House must have sent Foreman to see him for a reason.

Foreman finished with the chart and put it back before moving to Chase's side. "Came to check on you," he replied. "That okay with you?"

Chase shrugged. Truthfully, it didn't really matter. He just wasn't in the mood for mind games. "Whatever."

"Word to the wise?" Foreman looked serious.

"Meaning?" Chase prompted.

Foreman locked eyes with Chase. "Start eating, man. Don't be stupid about this. If you ever want to be released, you need to eat."

Anger flared in Chase. It seemed to be the only real emotion he could scrounge up lately. "I'm eating!" he snapped.

"Not according to your chart." Foreman shoved his hands in his pants pocket and shook his head. "I'm really sorry about Vanessa. But you've got to stop beating yourself up over shit you can't control."

"You don't even know what you're talking about." Chase felt the anger ebb away. Foreman's ignorance wasn't worth getting angry over. Nothing was worth it anymore. He just wanted to get out of here and go back to work. He wanted what passed for normal in his life.

It was Foreman's turn to get angry, and his dark eyes glared at Chase. "I know that you're a mess right now. I'm just saying that you need to do whatever it takes to get yourself healthy again. Work through whatever issues you have and move on."

Chase stifled the desire to laugh. What Foreman was saying wasn't in the least bit funny, but it was humorous that he was bothering to say it at all. They weren't friends. They were barely colleagues. He didn't want sympathy from Foreman, or some warped form of tough love. "Tell House to release me and I'll move on just fine," he stated.

"Why did you stop eating?" Foreman hurled the question at Chase, almost like an accusation.

"I haven't," Chase replied, and he realized that Foreman was sincerely pissed at him. It didn't make sense, but he would play along to see where this led.

Rubbing a hand over his bald head, Foreman paced a few steps, as if fighting to control whatever reaction he was about to have. After a moment he paced back over to Chase and his exasperation was reflected in his eyes and in his voice. "You can't tell me you didn't notice you were losing weight, or that your clothes didn't fit any more."

Chase shrugged again. "You didn't notice anything," he pointed out, and he felt like drawing a line in the air when Foreman flinched in reaction. Score one for team Chase. But he let the guy off the hook. "I wouldn't expect you to pay attention to me," he said quietly.

"I should have noticed," Foreman shot back. "But you're damn good at hiding things, Chase. It's what you do. You hide in plain sight sometimes."

"I don't hide," Chase argued, even though it was a moot point. He was tired of this conversation and made a show of curling up on his side and closing his eyes.

Foreman got the hint. "I'll let you get some rest. We can talk more later."

Chase didn't respond, and he was pretty sure Foreman was just being polite and he was off the hook. They wouldn't talk about this ever again. He was just drifting off to sleep when he heard soft footsteps approaching. He blinked his eyes open and found Wilson smiling at him. "Hey," Chase drawled, shifting around to sit up. Wilson was someone he actual did want to talk too. House had made arrangements for both of them that he had no business doing. Chase wanted to clear things up between them.

"How are you feeling?" Wilson asked, as he reached out to pull the table tray over. He set a can of vanilla ensure on it then pushed it over Chase's lap."

"I hate those things," Chase complained, before he could stop himself. But damned if the stuff didn't taste like liquid chalk.

Wilson looked sympathetic, but he didn't take the can away. "Hold your nose," he advised, with a grin.

Chase grimaced. He would pretty much beg to get out of drinking that crap. "How about we trade in the chalk for a banana and Gatorade?"

"You know the answer to that one, Chase," Wilson countered, as he grabbed a chair and sat down beside the bed. "You should have bartered for a milk shake. I might have given you that one."

"I'm sorry about what House did," Chase blurted out, in an attempt to distract them both from the can of Ensure.

Wilson nodded, but then he was grabbing the can and thrusting it into Chase's hand. "Drink some of it, then we'll talk."

Since he had no doubt that Wilson could out stubborn him at the moment, Chase took a couple of sips of the liquid. He gagged on it but didn't puke, but he noticed Wilson had an emesis basin ready for him. After a moment, Chase waved it away. "I'd rather drink liquid beets," he announced, putting the can back on the tray and shoving the table away from him. "And I hate beets."

"I'll see if I can find you something more palatable," Wilson allowed. He put the emesis basin aside and sat back down. "Don't apologize for House," he stated. "And if I didn't want to do it, I wouldn't."

"Wouldn't you?" The question was out before Chase could stop it. He had to admit he was curious as to the answer. From his observations, House ran roughshod over Wilson the same way he did everyone else. Maybe more so, because Chase knew that House did consider Wilson a friend. He didn't imagine it was an easy position to be in. Not that he would ever know. House would never be anything but his boss and a pain in Chase's proverbial ass.

Wilson chuckled, looking genuinely amused. "I've some how managed to maintain my free will. At least when it comes to House." For a moment he looked rueful.

Chase wasn't sure what Wilson was thinking in that moment, and he wasn't about to ask. He had a keen respect for a person's right to privacy. "You don't have to stay with me," he said quietly. "I really don't need a babysitter."

"Sure you do." Wilson's reply was firm. "It's hard to break a bad habit, Chase. All the more so when you're not even aware of what you're doing. Trust me on that one." The rueful look was back.

"Are you really still sleeping on House's couch?" It seemed a safe enough question to ask, and it took the focus off himself.

Wilson nodded. "Sadly, I am. So staying with you is actually helping me out."

Chase frowned at that. Wilson was a respected Oncologist; he had to be making good money. He had tenure and was a member of the board. So he couldn't help asking, "Why don't you move to a hotel or something?"

"Three ex-wives," Wilson replied, without missing a beat.

"Alimony must be a bitch." Chase almost found himself feeling sorry for Wilson for that one. Only he realized Wilson's bad habit to break was getting married over and over again then cheating on his wives. He was asking to be caught and divorced.

Wilson sighed then nodded. "The paycheck only stretches so far."

Exhaustion was niggling at Chase, but he fought against it. He was tired of being tired and he wanted to get at least one thing settled. To feel as if he might be in control of at least something in his life. "There's a lot of rooms at the house," he said. "You're welcome to one. But I was serious about not needing a baby sitter."

"I know you are." Wilson leaned forward, locking eyes with Chase. "But so was I. You need help, Chase."

"Why do you want to help?" His curiosity about that was getting the better of him.

Rising to his feet, Wilson put the chair back against the wall. "Let's just say I've got nothing better to do for now and leave it at that. That way we can both spin it to be whatever it needs to be."

The gist of the message Wilson was trying to give filtered through to Chase. They could each decide whatever reason worked best for them. He could live with that. He was good at pretending. "Is there a time limit? Days? Weeks? Months?" He didn't really want to do this, to have Wilson move in with him, but he knew he wouldn't get out of it and he was pragmatic enough not to beat a dead horse.

"We'll play it by ear." Wilson was smiling again. "House scheduled you to see Dr. Burns."

"Last time I was scheduled to see Dr. Bradley." Not that he cared, he was just surprised.

Wilson nodded. "House doesn't like Bradley and don't ask me why because I don't know and I prefer it that way."

Chase had a feeling it was best not to know. "When?" he asked.

"Five minutes." Wilson glanced at his watch then headed for the door. "I'll check in on you later."

"Sure," Chase replied. The moment Wilson was gone he considered ripping out his IV and making a run for it. Only he knew House had the nurses keeping an eye on him so he wouldn't even get out the door. He was going to have to suck it up and talk to Burns. Which wouldn't be the end of the world. He was good at stories, he'd just tell her what she wanted to hear.

Five minutes on the dot, Dr. Burns entered the room smiling. "How are you today, Dr. Chase?" she asked, in a cheery tone.

Which immediately set him on edge. He plastered a smile on his face, getting the reaction he was used to. She was charmed by something so decidedly superficial. Something Chase had come to learn early on. He'd grown into his looks, taking after his mother, and she had told him it was easy to make people see only what was on the outside. To take him at face value, which came in handy throughout his life time. He used it now, thickening his accent as he greeted her. "I guess I'm doing all right." He knew that telling her he was fine would send out the wrong signals. He would just have to watch her and play her. He could do that with an ease born of a lifetime of practice. He'd spent most of his teen years learning to watch for his mother's moods and act accordingly to keep his life as peaceful as possible.

"First off, let me say that I'm sorry for your loss." As she spoke, Burns grabbed the chair and pulled it over to the bed. She sat down, smoothing her skirt over he legs, then focusing on him with a look of sympathy in her eyes. No doubt a much practiced effect. "I hope that I can help you deal with your grief."

"Sure." Chase didn't bother to tell her he wasn't grieving. He figured that would only work against him. Normal people would be grieving and all.

Settling the clip board she'd brought with her, into her lap, Burns nodded. "Let's start with Vanessa, shall we?"

Chase didn't want to do this, which meant figuring a way to get around it. There was nothing to talk about. Vanessa was dead. End of story. But what he said was, "I don't think I'm ready to talk about it. Maybe after the funeral. I need some time to adjust to everything."

"Of course you do." Burns was nodding again, then she scribbled something on the note pad that was attached to the clip board. "Let's talk about your illness then and what we can do about making you better."

"I'm not sick." The words were a bit sharp and Chase was getting tired of saying it.

Burns had a pair of glasses tucked in her hair and she pulled them down and settled them on her nose. Then she reached under her note pad and pulled out a pamphlet. She held it out to Chase. "I want you to read this. It explains about anorexia --"

He cut her off with a snap, "What part of I'm not sick did you not get? And I'm a doctor, I know what anorexia is and I don't have it."

"It's all about control," Burns interjected, her own voice sharp now. "Read the pamphlet. Call it a reality check. You can deny it all you want, Dr. Chase, but the fact of the matter is that you've lessened your food intake to the point that you've lost a considerable amount of weight. Weight you didn't need to lose. You did it for a reason that might not be registering with you at the moment. But you need to face reality and that's why I'm here. To help you do that."

"Fine." Chase softened his tone as he reached for the pamphlet, dropping it on his lap. "I'll read it later." He'd agree to anything to get her to move on to something else.

Burns narrowed her gaze at him, as if gauging his sincerity, then she nodded. "Fair enough. We'll talk about it during the next session."

Chase winced. "How many sessions are scheduled?"

"Two months to begin with," Burns replied. "Then I'll decide if you need more."

"I don't need that many to begin with," Chase protested, but without any fire to it. It wasn't worth getting worked up about. It was more an irritant than anything. Just something for House to force him into simply because he could. Burns needed to talk to House about control issues. Locking eyes with the psychiatrist, Chase stated, "I don't need to talk to you at all."

Sighing softly, Burns slipped her glasses back on top of her head. "It's not surprising that you're in denial, Dr. Chase. I've read your file and...you've suffered a lot of emotional trauma in your young life. Denial is a way of coping with that trauma."

Realizing he'd be better off banging his head against the wall than trying to convince Burns she was wrong about him, Chase decided to cite examples of his awareness of the crap that had been dumped on him. "My mother was an alcoholic and my father left me to take care of her when I was fifteen. She was moody and abusive and it wasn't easy dealing with her. My dad didn't give a damn about me to the point he couldn't even be bothered to tell me he was dying. He left it for me to get a phone call at work. I messed up and a woman died because of it and I have to live with that. Does that about cover my trauma? Because I'm not denying any of it."

"You're denying that it's something you need to deal with," Burns countered, her voice going soft and persuasive.

"I dealt with it a long time ago," Chase shot back, and he was beginning to understand why House had picked her. She was going to be a dog with a bone about his issues. Whether she was right or wrong about them, or him. Which was the one thing he didn't want to deal with right now. Making a show of yawning, Chase said, "Sorry, I'm really quite tired. And hungry. Could we pick this up another time? After the funeral maybe?" He figured he could just keep putting her off after that too. Screw House and what he wanted.

Burns was on her feet, looking concerned. "Of course, Dr. Chase. You need to rest. And that you're hungry is a good sign."

He didn't bother to remind her he was anorexic, he just offered a tired smile and nodded.

"I'll reschedule you and be in touch with the day and time." With that Burns patted his shoulder, then she headed out the door.

Chase watched her go and felt relief wash over him. Maybe he would be left alone for a while. But almost on cue, House came limping into the room. Carrying a paper bag which he dumped on the tray table and then pushed over to Chase. "What's that?" Chase pointed to the bag covered in grease spots.

House grinned. "Cheese burger and fries," he announced. "Fast food joint about two blocks from here. Full of fat and calories. Dig in." He tapped the bag with the end of his cane, then appropriated the chair Burns had left next to the bed.

"Maybe later," Chase said, pushing the tray back. Or trying to. House grabbed it to stop him.

"Consider it a test," House stated. "If you can eat this you'll convince me you're not anorexic."

Chase wasn't playing his game. Not this time. "I'm not going to stuff myself just to get sick for your amusement." Grabbing the bag, Chase chucked it in the direction of the garbage can. He missed, of course, but he got his point across anyway.

Heaving a sigh, House made a show of getting up and retrieving the bag. Then he pulled out the crushed burger, unwrapped it and took a bite. "We'll try again for supper. Oh, wait, you won't be here for supper."

"I won't?" Chase knew House had to be messing with him, but he was going to fall for the bait this time anyway.

"You can go home with Wilson when he's done with his shift," House announced.

That was the best news Chase had gotten in a long time. Too long a time to remember even. "Thanks." He figured he owed House that much.

House shrugged, setting the burger aside. "Funeral's tomorrow."

"Oh." Chase hadn't even thought to ask about it. It surprised him that it was time for that already. Or maybe he'd just been hoping he might sleep through it.

"So, how was your chat with Dr. Burns?" House prompted, leaning back in his chair and watching Chase with a narrowed and intent gaze.

He had to pull himself back to focus on the question and his answer. "She's annoying, like you." He watched House grin at that. 

Tapping his cane on the floor, House nodded. "She is that, but in an entirely different way. I figured you could use the change. Or maybe the challenge."

"I just need to be allowed to get on with my life," Chase countered, and he was starting to feel angry again. Better than empty, he reminded himself.

"You need to take the first step in doing that," House allowed. "Which you haven't done yet. You're life is just the illusion you've created for other people to focus on."

Chase laughed at that. "Looks who's talking!" He got a flinch from that and felt like he'd won something. But it was a hollow victory at best, and House would one up him again all too soon.

No doubt House had a smart comeback, but his pager went off and he frowned as he read the message. Pushing to his feet he said, "Gotta go. We'll talk later." With that he limped out of the room.

Chase closed his eyes. He couldn't remember ever feeling so damn tired.

OoO

True to his word, House released Chase. Cameron brought him clothes earlier in the day and now Chase was dressed and ready to go. He just had to wait for Wilson to arrive. He bided his time thumbing through a magazine and was surprised by a knock on the doorframe. Glancing up he saw Cuddy standing there. "Oh, come in," Chase invited, feeling a bit foolish. It was her hospital after all. She could come or go as she pleased. He envied her that freedom in this moment. He was trapped by House, as always. Manipulated by the man's whims.

Cuddy stepped into the room, a smile on her face but looking hesitant. "How are you feeling, Chase?" she queried.

"I'm fine," he replied. They both knew he wasn't going to cop to anything being wrong with him. "I'll be back to work after the funeral." He wasn't sure why he told her that, maybe to make her aware that he was fine and capable of doing his job.

"House told me," Cuddy replied. She paused and studied him a moment, then said softly. "I'm sorry I...I feel like I've let you down, Chase."

He frowned at that. "Let me down how?"

She shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "I didn't notice anything was wrong. I should have been paying attention."

"There was nothing to see," Chase shot back, the familiar flare of anger creeping over him. "Unless you're psychic, you couldn't know that Vanessa was going to die the other night. That's the only thing that's wrong right now." He held up a hand when she looked like she was going to argue with him. "I know House is telling everyone that I'm anorexic. He's doing that to be an ass. I know I've lost a bit of weight but it's not a big deal. And I'm sure you know by now that I have a baby sitter for a time."

"Wilson." Cuddy was almost smiling. "You could do worse."

Chase nodded, because he knew that all too well. "Could be House." Not that it would be because the man wouldn't be bothered with him. Which was fine with Chase. He just wished House would leave him completely alone and stop butting into his personal life.

Cuddy was still smiling. "Wilson can probably tell you horror stories."

"I'm sure." Chase turned away to stuff the magazine in the small duffle bag Cameron had brought him. It was the one he kept in his locker. Right now it was mostly filled with magazines and his running clothes.

"I've spoken with Dr. Burns," Cuddy announced.

Which got Chase's attention. He turned around to lock eyes with her. "Meaning?"

The smile faded from Cuddy's face. "She's concerned that this won't be easy for you to deal with, Chase. Any of it. I've talked to her about the sessions we had. I didn't reveal anything we talked about," Cuddy was quick to assure him. Not that there had been much to tell even if she had. Chase hadn't revealed anything she wouldn't have already known from his file. "I just wanted her to know that you've made an effort to deal with things."

"So what's your point?" He had to ask because he wasn't all that sure she actually had one. What he got from Cuddy was the impression that she was feeling guilty.

"What I want to say is...don't feel like you have to rush into anything." Cuddy looked at the floor and almost fidgeted. "You don't have to come back to work right away if you're not ready too. Take the time to do what's right for you. I know House expects you back the day after tomorrow, but I'll handle him if you want some time off." She glanced up at him to see his reaction.

Chase shook his head. "I want to come back to work. I don't need time off. I can do my job." Why couldn't anyone but House seem to get that he needed to work. Of course, House was no doubt pushing for him to be back to torture him some more. But it worked in his favor so Chase didn't care what the reason was.

Cuddy looked uncertain, but after a moment she nodded. "Whatever you think is best."

"What I think is best is for everyone to stop acting like I'm sick!" Chase snapped, surprising himself. "I'm not sick or fragile. I'm rather used to people dying on me, I'll deal and move on. I don't need to talk to a shrink, I just need to be left alone and allowed to do my job!" He could see that Cuddy was as shocked by his outburst as he was.

"Everyone needs time to heal after a loss, Chase," she replied, her tone gentle. "Even if you're used to losing the people you care about, even if you tell yourself you can handle it...it's going to affect you at some point. It's the fallout you need to deal with. And we just want to be there to help you when that time comes. Or make it easier for when it does."

He knew she was being sincere, although he had to wonder why she bothered. Maybe it was just something that came with the job. Learning how to be sincere when you really didn't give a rat's ass about the person. "Thank you," Chase replied, because it was the expected thing to do. Which he was good at. Giving the expected response to whatever. "I appreciate your concern but I'll be fine."

There were footsteps that made them both look towards the door. Wilson was standing there.

"Am I interrupting anything?" he asked.

"No." Chase was quick to assure him he wasn't. "Can we go now?"

Wilson nodded. "I'm ready. I ran to House's for my stuff during lunch so it's in the car and we can head out."

Chase grabbed his bag and breezed past Cuddy. "Let's go then." He didn't look back as he walked out past Wilson. There was nothing to look back at. And never looking back was something Chase was good at. Because he knew better than anyone that you can't change the past.

**THE END...of part 12**


	13. Chapter 13

**REWIND...part 13**

Going home was harder than he had expected. Maybe, in part, because Vanessa's house had never really felt like Home to Chase. If he were honest with himself, he hadn't lived anywhere yet that felt like home. The closest he had come to that feeling was when he as at PPTH, and how sad a fact was that?

"Chase?"

He jerked at the sound of Wilson's voice and turned his head to find the man watching him with a concerned look on his face. Chase hadn't even realized Wilson had pulled up to the front of the house and turned off the car. "Can we sit here a minute?" he asked. He wasn't ready to go inside just yet.

Wilson nodded. "Just so you know..." He paused and seemed hesitant to continue.

"Just so I know, what?" Chase prompted, wondering if Wilson had more bad news to impart. Not that he could think of anything else that could happen.

"Vanessa's things have been packed up," Wilson blurted out. At Chase's surprised look he hastened to explain. "House talked to her lawyer."

Chase was pissed to hear that. "Why would he do that? And how did he get the number?"

Wilson winced and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if trying to ward off a headache. "I don't know the details, you'll have to confront House about it some time. But I do know that Vanessa had it prearranged for her personal belongings to be packed and then picked up by Good Will. Which is sending a truck over tomorrow. They'll come while we're at the funeral."

"I see." Chase didn't exactly, but it didn't seem all that important right now.

"There's also this." Wilson withdrew a sealed envelope from his inside jacket pocket and held it out to Chase.

He stared at it blankly for a moment, then he reached out with a hand that trembled slightly. He almost pulled his hand back, not wanting to take it, but after a moment Chase closed his fingers over the envelope then he simply held it in his lap.

Wilson watched him for a moment then asked, "Do you want to go inside now?"

"No." Chase felt tension throb in his temples and he knew a headache was gearing up. He kept staring at the envelope though, trying to imagine what was inside.

"Do you want me to give you a moment alone?" Wilson looked uncomfortable as he asked, and one hand was already on the door handle.

After a moment of consideration, Chase shook his head. He liked his privacy, but at the same time he felt a sudden reluctance to be alone. Not knowing what the content of the letter was set off flares of panic inside of Chase. If he was alone he might give in to the panic, but with Wilson there he'd be able to maintain a detached facade. He was good at putting up shields and keeping them intact whenever people were watching. "You can stay," he said softly.

Wilson nodded. "Okay." He made a show of relaxing back into the driver's seat, but he looked a bit unhappy. After a moment of heavy silence, he gestured to the letter in Chase's hand. "Maybe you should read that."

"I guess." He stared at the envelope, recognizing Vanessa's handwriting as he stared at his name on it. After a moment he ripped it open and pulled out a single piece of paper. Vanessa's personal stationary. Chase closed his eyes for a moment to settle his nerves, then he unfolded it and began reading.

_Hello, beautiful._

_To start, this is the final draft of a letter I started writing about six weeks after we met. You took my breath away the moment I first laid eyes on you, and for a while I was enamored by your beauty. But then I got to know you, as much as you let anyone know you, and I fell in love. As much as I know how to fall in love._

_We're both damaged, Robbie. I accepted it in myself years ago, but then you came along and you wanted to save me. We both knew you couldn't, but it was enough for me that you wanted to try. No one else has bothered to do even that in a long time. I loved every minute of our time together, even though I knew it wouldn't last. I knew you couldn't save me and that I didn't have it in me to save myself._

_I didn't give back what you gave to me. There was nothing inside of me to give. So I'm doing the next best thing and leaving you my shares of my business. Don't panic, my partner will run things for you while you reap the benefits. Also, my lawyer will contact you and explain everything at some point._

_I signed over both houses to you. I want you to stay in the house here in New Jersey, but if you don't want to then feel free to sell. Feel free to change whatever you like as well. And if you decide to sell the beach house in Hawaii, at least go there first. I wish we could have gone together, but at least this way you can go and make new memories for yourself. Make them good ones, Robbie. You deserve them._

_I have a lot of things, all of which I've left to you. The personal items will be disposed of. I doubt you'll have use for my clothes and make up and such. I hope that made you smile. You have a gorgeous smile, Robbie. Use it more. Find a reason too. I couldn't be saved, but you have the strength to save yourself. Do whatever it takes._

_Find someone who loves you for you, because that's what you did for me and it made me happier than I can ever remember being. I had a good life and you made it better. Make a good life of your own, Robbie. _

_Love Vanessa._

Reaching the end of the letter, Chase folded it back up and stuffed it in the envelope, which he then crumpled in one hand. He wished he could jump out of the car and go for a run right now. A long run with endless miles stretching out before him and no need to turn back until he was ready. Until his body burned itself out. But he couldn't do that anymore, not with Wilson as his watch dog.

"Chase?" Wilson sounded worried.

He turned his head. "I'm fine. We can go in now." Chase reached for the door handle.

Wilson touched his shoulder to stop him. "Do you mind my asking what was in the letter?"

"Vanessa left me her shares of her business and her properties." Chase could hear how monotone his reply was and how his voice echoed hollowly in his ears. He felt hollow inside right at this moment. But he managed a sharp smile as he pointed at the house. "Apparently I own it now."

"Wow." Wilson looked surprised. "Guess that makes you doubly rich now."

Chase frowned as he replied, "I'm not rich, my dad was rich." He had figured Wilson would have known that. That House would have told him. Then again, House didn't seem to believe Chase when he told him that. "Guess I am rich now though."

Wilson nodded, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else right now. To that end he opened his door and stepped out of the car.

Thankfully, Chase followed. He moved to the trunk of the car and said, "I'll help you bring your stuff in."

"I can handle it," Wilson replied, as he opened the trunk. Inside were several suitcases and a clothing bag.

Chase was already reaching inside for one of the cases. "I can help," he insisted, because he was tired of being treated like he was sick and fragile.

Wilson seemed to catch on because he simply nodded and reached for a bag himself. "I can get the rest later," he said, closing the hood.

"Fine." Chase turned and headed for the front door. He waited for Wilson to catch up. "Do you know if the servants are still here?"

"From what House told me they're still employed." Wilson watched Chase closely as he replied. "I'm sure Vanessa's lawyer will have all the details."

Chase figured the same thing. He rather wanted to be alone, but he didn't want the housekeeper and the others to be unemployed either. Mainly he just didn't' want to deal with any of this right now. He lifted his free hand to rub his right temple.

Wilson was watching. "Headache?"

"Not really," Chase lied. He was reaching into his pocket for his key when the door opened.

"Welcome back, Dr. Chase," said the Housekeeper. She stepped back to let him in.

Chase mustered a smile. "Thank you, Maggie. We have a house guest. Make up any room he wants and please move my things to the room at the end of the hall." Chase had no intention of sleeping in the bed he had shared with Vanessa. He didn't really want to set foot in that room ever again. Too many painful memories were trapped there.

Maggie nodded, her eyes moving to Wilson then back. "Yes, Sir. I'll take care of that straight away." She nodded again then strode off.

"You can leave your bags here," Chase said, setting down the one he was holding. "Would you like something to drink?"

"No, I'm good," Wilson replied. He put the case he was holding down and said, "You know your way around servants."

Chase shrugged. "We had them when I was growing up." Since there was nothing more to say on that subject, he wandered off into the drawing room. Nothing had changed in the house, and yet everything was different. Chase knew it was himself that was different. The house empty in a way he hadn't expected. He hadn't loved Vanessa in the way she deserved to be loved, but she had become a part of who he was. Now that she was gone he wasn't sure who to be anymore.

Wilson followed him into the room, turning in a slow circle as he surveyed his surroundings. "This is a nice room."

"I suppose." Chase hadn't thought about it. The house in its entirety was expensively decorated with the intent of making it appear homey. At least that was Vanessa had told him before stating just how much it cost to have done and then bitching about the decorator's bad attitude and love of crushed red velvet. Chase remembered laughing over that conversation and how much younger Vanessa had looked when she smiled. Younger and prettier and full of life.

And now she was dead. Chase still hadn't wrapped his mind around that one. Much like when his mother had died. For months he'd kept expecting her to walk through the door. When she'd been alive he never knew what her mood would be. Sometimes she'd be happy and loving, other times she'd be angry and hurtful, even hitting him on occasion. But Chase had understood and never held it against her. He had simply learned to adjust to whatever mood she was in to make things easier for them both.

"Did Vanessa play the piano?" Wilson asked. He had walked over and was running a fingertip over the glossy side of it.

"No." Chase moved to the window, only now noticing how dark it had gotten. He moved to turn on the side lamp, filling the room with a soft golden glow.

Wilson was watching him again. "Do you play?"

Chase didn't think, he simply answered the question. "A bit."

"Maybe you could play for me later," Wilson requested.

"Maybe," Chase allowed. He had no intentions of doing so, but it was easier to be agreeable.

Wilson narrowed his gaze at him, looking like he had something he wanted to say, but then he glanced at his watch. "It's supper time. You need to eat."

Chase wasn't the least bit hungry, but he knew he didn't have a choice in the matter. It was why Wilson was here. "The kitchen's this way."

"You cook?" Wilson sounded curious.

"If I have too." Chase had learned to cook from his mother. During some of her more sober moments. He had enjoyed just being with her then. But he shook the memory aside and went to the fridge. He knew the place was always well stocked because Vanessa had the housekeeper do the shopping.

Wilson followed Chase over to the fridge and peered inside. "I'm a fair cook. Looks like you have the stuff for omelets and toast. Sound good to you?"

Chase made a face. "Not really, but make whatever you want."

"Eggs and toast are light enough they shouldn't bother your stomach," Wilson replied, as he nudged Chase out of the way and reached for the egg carton.

"There's nothing wrong with my stomach!" Chase snapped, and he was angry with himself for getting angry. There was no sense in repeating himself. Everyone believed he had a problem. Everyone was wrong.

Wilson cocked an eyebrow as he set the eggs on the counter then reached for the milk. "Glasses?" he asked. When Chase pointed to the cupboard over the sink, he moved to it and took two glasses out. Then he filled them with milk and handed one to Chase.

Since he couldn't really win no matter what he said or did, Chase accepted the glass. He took a long swallow, resisting the childish urge to stick his tongue out at Wilson when the man grinned at him. Instead he asked, "Anything you need me to do?"

"You can make the toast in a few minutes," Wilson replied. He set about getting familiar with the kitchen, seeking out pans and utensils and such. "Are we eating in here?"

"Dining room is too big," Chase replied, which was his way of saying yes. 

Wilson nodded. "Then you can set the table."

Moving to the proper cupboard, Chase took down two plates. There were three patterns to choose from and he found himself using the one Vanessa didn't like. They were a deep red color and he actually liked them himself. Setting the plates on the table, he then grabbed silverware and napkins. That done he sat down and watched Wilson at the stove. Chase made it a point to drink his milk just to prove a point. More to himself than to Wilson really. He wasn't sick and he didn't need anyone watching over him. But like always in his life, Chase knew he would have to prove it. He could do that. He was always doing that anyway. Over and over again. Especially with House.

Idly drawing patterns on the frost that coated the cold glass, Chase thought about House. How the man was always pushing him to prove himself. His father had done the same thing to him, only in a different way. House did it to entertain himself, Rowan Chase had done it to prove to his son that he wasn't worth a damn. There had been times in the past when Chase had been pretty well convinced his father was right. It was his desire to prove his father wrong, once and for all, that had sent him to the states to begin with.

"You can start the toast if you want," Wilson said, interrupting Chase's musings.

"Right." He was glad for the interruption and he jumped up to find the bread, only he must have moved too fast because spots danced before his eyes and he felt himself listing, then stumbling into the chair.

Wilson was by his side in an instant. "Chase...sit down. Head down."

He let himself be pushed into the chair with his head between his knees. Which helped to clear his head. "Don't let the eggs burn," Chase warned. He hated the smell of burnt food. Always had.

"Screw the eggs." Wilson had Chase's wrist in one hand, checking his pulse.

"I'm fine, I just stood up too fast. Head rush." Chase pulled his arm free. "I'm serious, don't burn the eggs." He sat up and felt much better, so he waved a hand at Wilson to get his point across.

Wilson studied him a moment longer, then nodded. He returned to the stove. "After we eat you should probably go to bed."

A mirthless laugh escaped Chase. "You'll make someone a great mother some day," he taunted.

"I very much doubt that," Wilson countered with a grin. "You have any siblings?"

"Two half sisters," Chase replied. He hadn't told anyone before and he hoped Wilson wouldn't go blabbing it to House. He was tired and that had to be part of the reason why he was answering pretty much every damn question Wilson asked him. That and the fact he found himself trusting the guy, which was probably a mistake on his part. But not his first and no doubt not his last.

Chase told himself he wasn't going to answer this time, but he couldn't think of anything deflective to say. Sighing into one hand he replied, "Ten. They're twins." Just then he remembered he hadn't made the toast yet. He started to get up but Wilson turned and shook the spatula at him.

"Don't you move. I'll make the toast." A moments pause then he asked, "Where do you keep the bread and the toaster?"

"Other side of the sink," Chase replied. "Bread in the silver bread basket, toaster right beside it." He watched Wilson follow his directions and slip four slices of toast into the toaster. He was grateful when the omelet called Wilson's attention and for the next few minutes the older man was focused on serving up the eggs and buttering toast.

Looking pleased with himself, Wilson sat down at the table in front of his own plate. "Dig in," he ordered, then paused to ask. "Do you say grace?"

Chase shook his head. "No. Haven't in years." And there was another piece of himself he was giving away for free. He silently chided himself to shut up, and figured maybe he'd do better if he just focused on eating. But he had to give up on the omelet after two bites, and settle on the toast.

"Don't like my cooking?" Wilson asked, not looking the least bit offended.

"Just not hungry," Chase replied. Truthfully, Wilson made a damn good omelet, which he had the feeling the man knew.

Wilson let it go, his attention on his own meal.

After finishing two pieces of toast, Chase finished his milk then took his plate to the sink. "When you're done eating just put everything in the sink. Margaret will do dishes in the morning."

"I think I'm going to like it here," Wilson stated. "House weasels out of chores at his place."

"Why do you put up with him?" The question was out before Chase could stop it.

Wilson set his fork aside and steepled his fingers, looking contemplative before replying. "You know, I've asked myself that question a million times. Still haven't come up with a good answer. How about you? Why do you put up with him? As an Intesivist you could get a job anywhere you want."

Chase knew Wilson was right. In fact, he'd had a few offers from other hospitals because of his specialty. Cuddy had even offered him a position at PPTH for when his fellowship ended. He had countered by asking if he could extend another year. "I'm masochistic," he replied. Which was pretty much telling the truth. Chase just didn't want to think about the implications of it.

"You going to bed?" Wilson asked, as he watched Chase head for the door.

"Just going to wander a bit," Chase replied. He'd given away too much to Wilson as it was. He slipped out the door and did exactly what he said. He wandered from room to room for a time, waiting to feel something. But there was nothing but a sense of emptiness which mirrored each room. Rooms that were too big for one person and echoed with each step he took.

Eventually Chase ended up in the drawing room. He sat down at the piano and began to play. He was so focused on the music that he never heard or saw Wilson enter the room and move to sit in one of the overstuffed armchairs. It wasn't until he finished one piece and closed the lid that he realized he wasn't alone. "I wasn't playing for you." For some reason Chase felt the need to say that.

Wilson shrugged. "I still reaped the benefits. You play beautifully."

"Don't tell House." Chase felt almost panicked at the thought of his boss finding out about something that he considered strictly personal. And he knew it would give House fodder for jokes and taunts for months to come. Chase didn't have the energy to deal with them. Music was something that offered him peace and he didn't want House ruining that for him. He didn't want it turned into a joke like the rest of his life was.

"I won't say a word," Wilson promised, rising from his chair. "It's getting late and you should get to bed. It's going to be rough tomorrow."

Chase had almost forgotten about the funeral. "I'll show you to your room," he said, rising from the piano bench and leading the way out of the room. He climbed the stairs with Wilson just a step behind and, as he had expected, Wilson's suitcases had been delivered to the first bedroom on the left of the stairs. "If you don't like the room we can move you," Chase said, as he gestured for Wilson to enter. "There are six other bedrooms not counting the one I took and the master bedroom."

Wilson was wide-eyed as he surveyed the room. "This is great. Really." He stepped into the connecting bathroom then back out to grin at Chase. "I'm going to be sorry to have to leave here. Not that you'll be sorry to see me go."

"You can stay as long as you like," Chase offered, and he almost laughed at Wilson's surprised reaction. "It's a big house." That said he stepped to the door. "Good night." He didn't wait for a reply but headed down the hallway. Not to his room though. He had to make a pit stop in the master bedroom. For all that he was tired, Chase knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep without help.

Entering the room, he tried to avoid looking at the floor where Vanessa had collapsed. Chase headed straight into the bathroom and retrieved the sleeping pills. He didn't realize he had been holding his breath until he was back in the hallway feeling a bit lightheaded. He sucked in air as he made his way to his new room. Once there he turned on the lights and headed for the bathroom. Chase popped the pill, brushed his teeth, then stripped down to boxers and t-shirt. Then he crawled into bed, reaching for the remote. Every bedroom had a TV. He turned it on and picked the cartoon channel. Then he closed his eyes and willed himself to drift into oblivion.

Reality sucked.

OoO

House was watching the Disney Channel when his phone rang. He reached for it, resisting the urge to fling it across the room. If it was work somebody's ass was going to be grass. "House!" he barked.

"Hello to you too," Wilson replied.

"Oh...it's you." House switched the phone to his other ear, his irritation evaporating. He had been hoping Wilson would call. "So...like your new digs?"

"I feel like a trespasser, thanks for asking," Wilson countered.

House chuckled. "Has to be better than my couch."

Wilson sighed. "Touché."

"So how's Chase doing?" House decided to cut to the chase. He'd deny it if asked, but he had been worried about Chase going back home.

"He seems okay. A bit distracted." There was a slight pause then Wilson added, "I don't think it's really hit him yet that she's dead. Then again, he's lost a lot of people so maybe his coping mechanism is to just detach himself."

House wasn't surprised to hear that. It was a method he frequently applied to most things emotional. "Whatever he has to do to deal with it, let him do it."

Wilson snorted. "Yeah, because denial is dealing."

"So offer him a shoulder to cry on." House reached for a bag of Doritos and crunched into one.

"I can't imagine Chase crying, for all the jokes you make about it," Wilson replied.

House couldn't either, but he didn't say it. There was something else he was more concerned about. "Did he eat?"

"Better than I expected." Wilson's reply was a bit terse.

"Which means what exactly?" House shot back. "Did he eat good or not?"

Another sigh from Wilson's end. "He ate so I consider that good."

House considered that was Wilson's way of saying Chase hardly ate at all. He'd back off on it until after the funeral, but if Chase didn't get with the program once he was back at work, House was going to be all over him like white on rice. The analogy of which made him have a sudden craving for Chinese food. Stretching a bit, House grabbed the menu on the end table. Now that Wilson had called in he could hang up and order dinner. "Make sure he sleeps and eats a good breakfast. I don't want him passing out at the funeral." He spoke harshly, but he meant well. And he knew Wilson knew that.

"Talk to you tomorrow, House," Wilson said, then he hung up without waiting for a reply.

"Stupid kid," House muttered to himself, as he clicked off then waited for the dial tone. He punched in the number for the Chinese place, but hung up before the connection was made. His appetite had disappeared. House blamed Chase for that. The Aussie was going to give House and ulcer yet, and damned if he wasn't going to charge the little brat for all his medical expenses.

Heaving a sigh of disgust, House grabbed the remote and clicked on HBO. Maybe he could catch a repeat of Deadwood. Nothing like watching some ugly chick swearing like a sailor to get his mind off other things. But even as he felt himself getting lost in the programming, House couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen.

**THE END...of part 13**


	14. Chapter 14

**REWIND...part 14**

The sleeping pill didn't do much good. Chase found himself tossing and turning for most of the night, finally giving up all pretense of trying to sleep around 5am. The anxiety that had plagued him for the past few months was back. For a while it had gone away, or maybe he had been detached enough from everything as to not feel it for a time. But it was back with a vengeance and Chase found himself pulling on running clothes and tying on his sneakers.

It felt good to run again. He didn't have the stamina to go far, and he knew it, but just pounding the pavement and working his muscles was enough to burn away the jitters. He just hoped it would keep them away for the day.

A stitch in his side forced Chase to slow to a walk and, at one point, stop and bend over. He breathed through the pain, almost welcoming it. He wanted to feel things that he could control. Physical pain was something he had control over. Once the pain in his side eased, he straightened up and started walking. His thigh muscles felt like rubber at the moment so running wasn't an option. As he walked, feeling a bit unsteady, Chase wondered if it were like that for House.

He didn't often think about his boss's injury. The limp, the cane and the pain was a part of what made House...House. The Vicodin popping didn't bother Chase either. Unlike what alcohol had done to his mother, the pain pills didn't blur House's ability to be who he was. In fact, they allowed him to be who he was and to do his job. Sometimes Chase wished he had a pill for that.

He was lost in thought about House for a time, wondering about his own willingness to subject himself to the man's taunts and abuse. Chase wondered what that said about himself and decided he really didn't want to go there. So he focused on the way his body felt. On the areas of weakness that he needed to strengthen. To that end he began running again, pushing past the burn and intent only on obtaining his goal.

It took longer than it usually would for him to complete his run. It was after seven when he made it back home and he wasn't all that surprised to see the door open as he reached it and Wilson standing there in pajama bottoms and a t-shirt.

"Nice day for a run," was Wilson's comment, as Chase stepped inside.

"Nice enough," Chase allowed, but he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He could see that Wilson was disappointed in him. Oddly enough, that bothered him a bit. So Chase looked at him and waited for the lecture.

Wilson studied Chase for a moment then said, "Go shower. I'll have breakfast ready by the time you're done."

Chase watched him head for the kitchen, and he almost went after him to ask if that was it. But apparently it was, at least for now, so Chase did as he was told and headed for the stairs. When didn't he? Shaking his head at himself, Chase entered his room and stripped. He stayed under the hot water for a long time, feeling it wash away some of the lingering burn. He willed the jitters to stay away as well and so far so good.

Because it was still early, he didn't get dressed for the funeral yet. Instead he pulled on jeans and a pullover and just pulled on socks, not bothering with shoes. He knew what he would wear to the funeral. Vanessa's favorite suit. Italian designer made and a dark blue with the matching shirt and tie. She'd bought him the outfit and he'd only had the chance to wear it twice. But she'd told him to wear it to her funeral on the day she'd given it to him. 

They'd gone out to dinner that night, to her favorite resturant. Chase had worn the suit because she'd wanted him to break it in doing something fun. During dinner they'd talked about funerals, Vanessa's choice of subject. She'd gone to two in the past months, for friends, and was feeling her mortality. It was during that dinner she'd told him her thoughts on the whole matter. Which was why Chase had a pretty good idea what to expect today, even though he hadn't been involved in any of the arrangements.

Vanessa had made it clear that she'd taken care of everything and that she believed everyone should do the same. That it shouldn't be left to loved ones to have to make funeral arrangements. She told Chase all he would have to do was show up to hers. There wouldn't be any calling hours either, she hated that. Just the funeral itself and a party afterwards. later that night. Vanessa wanted people to celebrate the memory of her, not weep over her being gone. And Chase had promised her then, and he reminded himself of that promise now, to celebrate the memory of her. He could even guess where the party would be. Her favorite restaurant. Vincente's.

"Chase?"

He started at the sound of his name and left his room to go to the head of the stairs. Wilson was at the bottom, looking worried. "I'm ready," Chase told him, descending the stairs.

Wilson watched him, then walked with him to the kitchen. "I made french toast. Do you want jam or syrup?"

"Just butter," Chase replied. Everything else was too sweet for his taste.

"Go sit." Wilson waved him over to the table where plates were set and glasses of orange juice were waiting.

Chase sat down and took a sip of juice. He then watched as Wilson came over with the pan and dropped three slices of thick toast on his plate. "I can't eat all that," he stated. Breakfast had never been a big meal for him anyway.

Wilson put three slices on his own plate, returned the pan to the stove then sat down and glared at Chase. "Eat it anyway. You're not anorexic, right? So it shouldn't be a problem."

"Are you going to the funeral with me?" Chase asked, as a distraction. Because he refused to get into an argument with Wilson.

"I was planning on it," Wilson replied, as he smeared butter on his toast then drowned them in syrup. "Is that a problem?"

Chase shook his head. "No. I expected you would. I would think House plans on going as well." He said it as a statement, not a question.

Wilson swallowed the bite he'd taken, then shrugged. "Never know with House, but when I talked to him a few minutes ago he told me to have a good day. So maybe he has a case."

"Oh." That surprised Chase a bit, he fully had expected House to come and be in his face. But if House was going to stay away, Chase was glad. In fact he found himself relaxing a bit since he wouldn't have to worry so much about being on guard. Lately, whenever he was in House's presence, he felt like a bug under a microscope and that older man was trying to dissect him.

"Why did you go for a run?" Wilson asked, the question coming out of the blue.

Chase looked at him for a moment, trying to gauge whether the man was being judgmental or not, then he decided to give him the truth. "I like to run."

Wilson seemed to accept that. "Just be careful, Chase. Don't sabotage yourself."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Chase felt anger flaring up inside him and irritation at the thought that he suddenly needed to defend himself.

"You need to gain weight, not burn calories," Wilson replied, then he forked a bite of toast into his mouth.

Chase stiffened, fighting against making a biting retort. He calmed himself and said mildly, "You seem to keep forgetting the fact that I'm not ill. I'm not anorexic, for all of House's postulations that I am. And running, or any form of exercise, is healthy." There, he'd remained calm and stated his case. Although the fact that he needed to do so still irritated him.

Wilson washed down his bite with a swig of orange juice, then he set his fork down to focus his full attention on Chase. "Exercise within reason is good and healthy," he allowed. "If you balance out your eating with your running, that's fine. As for being anorexic, maybe you're not. House did concede that you're borderline and his thought was intervention more than anything. But realistically you know you're underweight by a good twenty pounds. Which isn't healthy."

"Then why don't the bloody lot of you go pick on Cameron!" Chase shot back. So much for keeping his cool. But he was tired of everyone obsessing over his weight. "She's the skinny one," he continued. "I'd even lay odds she's bulimic." Foreman had even called her on it once and Chase remembered how pissed off she had been, glaring at Foreman then huffing out of the conference room. But at the same time she hadn't really denied it. Just like she hadn't denied it in his hospital room. In fact she had been the one to bring it up when he accused her of being the anorexic one. Chase knew all about non answers being more honest than any truth, or confession, could ever be. But no one was harassing Cameron.

"Maybe she is bulimic," Wilson allowed. "But it's not affecting her health."

Chase bit his tongue to keep from snapping at Wilson. After a moment of grinding his teeth, he was able to respond quietly. "I've had a rough few months, I think I'm allowed to be off my appetite. That doesn't mean I'm sick."

Wilson sighed, pushing away his own plate of food. "I'm not going to debate this with you, Chase. Bottom line is that no matter what we call it, you have to be careful. And since I'd like to believe that you're not in total denial of that fact, I'm going to drop it. For now."

"Fine." Rising from his chair, Chase brought his plate over to the sink. He didn't want to argue either, but he realized he was still angry. He rather wished he could go for another run, but he knew that wasn't going to happen. "What time do we have to leave?" That was a safe enough topic for now.

"9:30," Wilson replied, glancing at his watch. "It's about eight now, so why don't you lay down for an hour?"

Chase nodded. He managed a weak smile then he slipped out of the room and headed upstairs. He had no intention of sleeping though, so he turned on the TV. He spent fifteen minutes flipping through channels before hearing Wilson moving down the hallway. Turning down the volume on the TV, Chase heard water running after a time and guessed that Wilson was in the shower. He turned the volume back up and idly flipped through some more channels, never once stopping on one for longer than a few minutes. When the clock finally ticked 9am, Chase got up, turned the TV off and started getting dressed.

It felt strange putting on the suit. Stranger still knotting on the tie. The last time he'd worn it, Vanessa had tied it for him. He could almost feel her fingers working against his chest, and the scent of her lingered in his memory. Chase swallowed the knot in his throat as he tugged his tie into position. He hadn't loved her the way she had deserved to be loved, but he was going to miss her. Just maybe not for the reasons he should.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Chase went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Then he ran a brush through his hair, combing it back with his fingers when it fell in his face. He really needed a haircut, but Vanessa had asked him not too. There was nothing stopping him from getting one now. He'd have to make an appointment. But that was another vague thought he pushed aside.

Moving back into the bedroom, Chase went in search of his shoes. Maggie had moved most of his things to this new room, but apparently not his dress shoes. So he headed for the master bedroom and he tried to ignore the way his stomach twisted into knots as he moved to the closet. Tucked in the back corner were his shoes. It felt weird to stand in the closet and for it to be so empty. All of Vanessa's things were packed in boxes that would be gone by the time he got back from the funeral. It had been that way when his mother died too. Her life packed into boxes that were put into storage. Only Chase had been the one to pack everything away then. And he had put them into storage himself, mentally packing the memory of his mother into storage as well. Then he had tried moving on with his life, but circumstances hadn't made that easy.

A faint knock distracted Chase from his thoughts and he stepped out of the closet to find Wilson standing in the doorway. "Time to go?" Chase guessed.

"If you're ready." Wilson was wearing a charcoal gray suit with a white shirt and a dark tie. He looked perfectly creased and somber.

"Ready," Chase said, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in his suit. It was too big for him now, making him remember how he'd dressed in his father's things once as a boy. Wanting to be like his father. Wanting to be an important doctor. He'd become a doctor, but failed in every other aspect of his life. Hell, he wasn't even famous, not that he wanted to be. Not that his father cared anyway. Rowan Chase dying hadn't really changed anything in Chase's life, even though he felt it should have.

Moving to the armchair near the fireplace, he sat down to put his shoes on. They felt tight and uncomfortable, rather like his skin right now. The jittery feeling was back and Chase didn't want to do this. He wanted to walk out of this house and never look back. Only he had no where to go, and that thought was depressing in itself. He had made this bed and now he would have to lie in it. Standing up he said, "Just let me get my jacket."

A quick trip to his new room and Chase met Wilson on the landing. Five minutes later they were driving off, Wilson at the wheel. Chase wasn't surprised that the man seemed to know where he was going and twenty minutes later they were at St. Peter's Church. Stepping out of the car, Chase looked over at Wilson. The older man looked a bit nervous. "It's just a church," he stated.

"A very big church," Wilson allowed. "Kinda creepy looking." He noticed the way Chase was looking at him and added, "It's a Jewish thing. At least for me."

"I see." Actually, Chase didn't. Not that it mattered. He closed the car door and headed up the steps. He waited for Wilson to catch up before going inside and he was greeted by a familiar face. Father Flanigan. Vanessa was Catholic, though not devout, but she had attended services here once a month and one time she had asked Chase to go with her. That was when he'd met Father Flanigan for the first time.

The elderly priest smiled sadly at Chase. "I'm so very sorry for your loss, Robert," he said in a warm voice. "Vanessa was a lovely woman."

Chase nodded. "She was. Thank you, Father." He turned to introduce Wilson, then they were led to the front pew. Chase sat down with Wilson sliding in beside him. He looked to the right and there were four people seated there. The church was otherwise empty. Yet Chase wasn't the least bit surprised when Father Flanigan moved to the pulpit and began the service with a prayer. Chase didn't go to his knees, but he did bend his head and whisper "amen" at the appropriate time. Then he only half listened as Father Flanigan spoke briefly about life and death and Vanessa's place in both.

He fell into a sort of reverie, remembering another time, another church. The drone of the Priest's voice as he spoke of his mother. The fact that his father hadn't come to the service because his new wife was busy giving birth to Rowan's daughter. It was Wilson's hand on his arm that shook away the memories, leaving Chase feeling bewildered and dazed. He scrubbed a hand over his face then stood up, realizing that the others were leaving. This part of the ritual was over.

Wilson guided him down the aisle and out of the church. Chase was grateful for that, taking a moment to gulp in the fresh air before heading to the car. He didn't get into it, he just leaned against it for a moment, lifting his face up to the weak sunshine.

"Small attendance," Wilson commented.

"That's how Vanessa wanted it," Chase replied.

Wilson moved to lean beside him. "Were any of them family?"

Chase frowned, trying to remember who he'd seen. "Her parents are dead and she didn't have any siblings. Her only living relative is a cousin in California that she hasn't seen in twenty years."

"That's kinda sad." Wilson was silent for a moment, then asked, "So who did come?"

"One of her lawyers, her business partner, her hairdresser and I didn't know the fourth person." Chase ticked them off on his fingers, realizing how strange and almost pathetic the list sounded. But Vanessa had always been rather quirky.

Wilson arched an eyebrow, gazing at Chase in disbelief. "Her hairdresser?"

Chase shrugged. "They've been friends for fifteen years or so."

"There wasn't a casket." Wilson looked surprised by that.

"She wanted to be cremated." It was Chase's turn to arch an eyebrow at Wilson. "I'm surprised House didn't give you all the details."

Wilson looked a bit sheepish at that. "He told me what time to bring you here for the service and that there's a gathering tonight at Vincente's to...say goodbye."

Chase sighed. "To celebrate her life. Vanessa wanted people to remember her the way she was. She didn't want people to think of her as dead and gone. Just off having a drink in the afterlife...so to speak." Chase heard the bitterness in his tone and ignored it.

"You ready to go?" Wilson looked a bit uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. He pushed off the car and headed for the driver's side.

"You have work, don't you?" Chase countered, then he continued before Wilson could respond. "Go to work, I'll call a cab to take me home. You don't have to sit with me all day. I'm not going to do anything stupid and I'd rather like some time alone."

Wilson looked like he was going to protest, but after a moment he simply nodded. "Okay. Call if you need me."

Chase almost laughed at that. He didn't need anyone. He'd spent his entire life watching out for himself. But what he said was, "I will." Then he stepped onto the curb and watched as Wilson got in the car and drove way. For a moment he was tempted to go back into the church, to try and reconnect with God. But past disappointments and remembered failures stopped him. Instead he dug in his coat pocket for a cell phone and called information to get the number of the local cab company. Then he sat on the Church steps, waiting for the car to arrive.

He didn't give the cabbie directions for home. Instead he went to the local bookstore. He sent the cab off, knowing he could call another one then lost himself in the classic literature aisle for a time. He was just checking out a paper back Sudoku puzzle book when his cell phone rang. Chase frowned at the ID. It was House. "Chase here," he replied.

"Eat lunch," House ordered. "You have a weigh in first thing tomorrow."

"Goodbye," Chase drawled, then he hung up. But he wasn't angry about the call, he felt surprisingly resigned. And something more. Something he couldn't identify, but the anxiety he had been carrying around eased a bit. Leaving the bookstore, Chase found the nearest fast food place and ordered a cheese burger and fries. He only managed to choke down half the burger and a few fries, but he felt it justified his claim that he wasn't sick.

Dumping the remains of his lunch, Chase headed for the nearby park and he spent the next hour doing the puzzles in his book. Since he only had a pen on him, it made it all the more challenging, but it was a much needed distraction. He then called a cab and by the time he got home it was nearly four.

The first thing Chase did was change into running clothes. He needed to be in motion. He didn't run far or for all that long, but he felt better and more at peace by the time he got back, stripped, and hit the shower. He dressed for the party in jeans and a pullover. Pulling on socks, he passed by the full length mirror on his way back to the bathroom to brush his hair and caught sight of his reflection. The jeans were dark and the pullover was maroon and it struck Chase how thin he looked. He hadn't noticed it before but his reflection looked almost warped.

But he wasn't sick and he hadn't intentionally tried to lose weight, and Dr. Burns was wrong about his eating habits being associated with the desire to be in control. He just hadn't had much of an appetite of late, but he'd prove to everyone it meant nothing. He just hadn't realized how he looked to them, until now.

Stepping away from the mirror, Chase went into the bathroom and pulled a brush through his hair. He doubted Wilson would be home until around six so he had some time to kill. He felt suddenly exhausted so he stretched out on the bed, figuring he could rest while watching TV. But Chase drifted off to sleep without meaning too, sliding into dreams that were more memories than anything.

He dreamed about his mother, remembering the way she had looked at the funeral. They'd made her look pretty again, but a pale and plastic kind of pretty that had sickened Chase. She'd felt like cold plastic when he touched her face and he hadn't said goodbye to her then, because he hadn't been ready to let her go.

That memory shifted to the argument he'd witnessed the day before his father had moved out. They never knew he'd heard them. He was supposed to be gone to practice after school but it'd been cancelled because the Coach had gotten sick. So Chase had come home and entered the house in time to see his mother slap his father and his father slap her back. Chase had been as shocked as his mother by the action. As shocked as his father's expression of disbelief. He could remember the sadness in his father's voice as he had apologized, but it had been lacking in sincerity. Just like his mothers sobbing tears had lacked any real meaning anymore.

He dreamed of the day she'd hit him with a half empty bottle of gin, splitting open a cut on his temple and leaving him to suffer headaches for a weak. She'd blamed him for his father leaving then cried her sorrow and begged his forgiveness. He'd given it freely before tucking her into bed.

He dreamed about the day his mother died. The way she had looked gray and thin and sickly as she lay on the gurney at the hospital. She should have looked at peace, but there was nothing but pain and sorrow etched on her pale face. He hadn't said goodbye to her then either.

It was the sound of the telephone ringing that jolted Chase out of his dreams. He felt his heart racing in his chest as he reached for the phone. It took a moment for him to remember where he was, but he was already answering out of habit. "Chase."

"Just checking in," Wilson said. "You okay?"

"Fine," Chase replied. He glanced at his watch. It was a little after five. He'd relived what felt like a life time of memories in about thirty minutes.

Wilson cleared his throat. "Good. Um...I'll be leaving in about twenty minutes and I'll bring pizza for supper."

Chase wasn't hungry but he said, "Fine." It was easier not to argue. "That it?"

"That's it," Wilson confirmed. "See you in a few."

"Goodbye." Chase hung up, not caring that he'd been rather rude. He slid off the bed and made a beeline for the bathroom. Falling to his knees next to the toilet he retched until he shook with dry heaves. Then he was coughing and shaking and cursing what he felt was a weakness. People died and life went on its merry way. He was used to it. This shouldn't matter. He'd move on like he always did. He wasn't sick and he wasn't going to let House get to him. He would let everything slide off his back because it didn't matter.

But it took fifteen minutes for Chase to get on his feet and brush his teeth. He was at the kitchen table, doing his puzzle book, when Wilson arrived with the pizza. Chase already had plates out and glasses filled with soda.

Wilson looked surprised but pleased. He put the pizza on the table then shrugged out of his coat. "I got half cheese and half pepperoni. I figured the cheese alone would settle on your stomach better."

"You're probably right," Chase acknowledged. He wasn't about to tell Wilson he'd been throwing up, so it was a moot point really. Instead he opened the box and grabbed a slice and took a bite. It tasted like sawdust, but Chase chewed and swallowed and washed it down with a swig of soda. He managed to down the whole piece that way.

"Have another," Wilson prompted.

But Chase shook his head. "There'll be food at Vincente's." He got up to pour himself more soda. The coke was helping to keep his stomach settled.

Wilson went to work on a second piece, but managed to watch Chase closely as he ate. He didn't say anything though. He just watched.

"What time are we supposed to be there?" Chase asked, and it felt strange to be asking Wilson for details. But everything had been arranged without him. More Vanessa's doing than House's, but Chase still felt a bit of resentment towards his boss.

"It starts at seven, so I should probably go change." He downed the soda in his glass and stood up. After putting the rest of the pizza in the fridge he looked at Chase and asked, "You sure you're up for this?"

Chase wondered why he looked so worried. He was fine so there was nothing to be worried about. To prove it he smiled. "I'm sure. I want to do this for her."

Wilson nodded. "You going to change?"

"No, she wanted it casual." Chase reached for his glass and took another sip of soda.

"Guess I'll go change then," Wilson replied. He left the room but was back in ten minutes wearing jeans and a plaid shirt. He caught Chase's grin. "I like plaid," he defended. "And given your usual shirt and tie combos, you shouldn't say a word."

Chase held his hands up in a mock defensive pose. "I haven't said a thing."

Wilson chuckled. "See that you don't." But his smile soon faded. "It seems weird to be doing this."

"It's what she wanted," Chase replied, fishing his car keys out of his jeans pocket. "I'll drive."

"You always do what people want, don't you?" Wilson shot back.

Which stopped Chase in his tracks. He'd been heading for the door but now he turned around and glared at Wilson. "I do what I have to do," he replied. And he meant it. Why fight against the current when it meant being sucked in by the riptide? He knew how to float along without making waves. He knew how to survive without having to fight. When he was forced to fight he always seemed to lose. Always came out battered and bloodied. He'd learned early how to slide under the radar. Until he started working for House. But that was a type of penance for Chase. A penance that was nobody's business but his own.

Wilson moved to his side. "We don't always do the right thing though, Chase," he said softly.

"Are you coming?" He wasn't going to have this conversation. Not now, not ever. Turning on his heel, Chase headed for the door. He was in the car and had just turned over the engine when Wilson slid into the passenger seat. Without looking at him, Chase drove out of the garage and drove off into the night.

**THE END...of part 14**


	15. Chapter 15

**REWIND...part 15**

Vincente's was elegant but with a homey atmosphere. The gathering was set up in the back room, which was large and tastefully decorted with burgundy curtains and chair cushions, against forest green walls with tiny stripes of cream and burgundy. The bar was in the corner and three-sided like a triangle.

Chase and Wilson arrived a few minutes early, but there was already a small crowd of people hanging out. Chase knew many of them and he greeted them all with a tired smile, mustering up the charm needed for appearances sake. He felt Wilson hovering beside him and made it a point to introduce him to everyone. Which meant it took a while to make it over to the bar. Once there he took a moment to let his gaze drift around the room and he wasn't surprised to see House standing at buffet table across the room. Cameron and Foreman were with him.

"Should we go over?" Wilson queried.

"I need a drink first," Chase replied, turning to the bartender and asking for a shot of Jack Daniels.

Wilson looked surprised. "You need a drink?" he countered, his surprise shading to concern.

Chase almost laughed at him, knowing exactly what the man was thinking. And why wouldn't he? Chase was the son of an alcoholic mother who drank herself to death. Now he was at a send off for another alcoholic who had done the same. Of course Wilson would jump to the conclusion that he planned on drinking himself into oblivion tonight. But after his recent bout with alcohol poisoning, nothing could be further from Chase's mind. "One drink," he said firmly.

"I'll have what he's having," Wilson said to the bartender, after giving Chase a nod. Then he leaned in and said, "Sorry. I just...You're all grown up and you know your limitations."

"Nicely said," Chase allowed, grabbing his drink then taking a sip. "But you don't believe that anymore than House does."

Wilson shrugged, not denying it. "I can't say much though. I'm painfully aware of the fact that I don't know my own limitations in regards to certain aspects of my life.

Which Chase took to mean his relationship with women. "Good point," he replied. Taking another sip of his drink, he watched as Wilson accepted his from the bartender, then he nodded towards House. "Guess we should go and say hello."

"Guess we should," Wilson conceded. "After you."

"Thanks," Chase drawled, oozing sarcasm and knowing that Wilson wouldn't take offense. Then he smiled slightly before stepping towards his co-workers. Along the way he greeted other guests, accepting condolences and pats on the backs, handshakes and a few hugs. By the time he made it to the buffet table, Chase felt a bit overwhelmed and slightly panicky.

House, of course, was watching him intently. But his only comment was, "Good eats."

Chase was almost grateful for the biting normality of that comment. It helped to ground him a bit and he felt his anxiety easing. Until he was ensconsed in a Cameron hug. Chase wasn't sure what to do at first. Then he let his free arm wrap lightly around her while trying to make sure he didn't spill the drink clasped in his other hand.

"How are you doing?" she asked, her mouth pressed close to his ear.

"I'm fine," Chase said quietly, feeling relieved when she pulled back and stepped away from him. He wasn't used to physical, public displays from her and it sent him reeling a bit.

Foreman stepped forward even as Cameron faded back. "Good to see you, man." He offered his hand to shake.

Chase stared at it a moment then shook it. He supposed everyone was acting different because of circumanstances. Because they pitied him. Which sparked an ember of anger deep inside him, but Chase was careful not to let it show. Instead he smiled as he replied to Foreman's question. "I'm fine. Thanks. So...do we have a case?"

"Not yet," Foreman admitted, looking a bit disgruntled. "But don't let that stop you from coming back to work ASAP. Cuddy has me and Cameron covering your clinic hours."

"When they're not covering mine," House piped in.

Choosing to ignore House for the moment, Chase focused on Foreman. "I'll be back tomorrow," he said firmly. And it was almost funny to see Foreman and Cameron's reactions. Foreman's jaw dropped and he looked rather fish like for a moment, and Cameron looked like she'd just been punched.

Stepping back in front of him, Cameron locked eyes with Chase. "Tomorrow is too soon," she said gently. "You need to take some time to heal, Chase."

"He'll be fine," House interjected, before Chase could respond. But he was giving the Aussie a critical once over as he spoke, and not looking pleased by what he saw.

"I want to come back," Chase stated, before Cameron could protest further. He made himself smile as he patted her arm, willing her to drop it.

She looked unhappy, but seemed to realize it would be best to drop it. "Just...don't feel like you have to push yourself to come back. Everyone will understand if you take time off."

Chase nodded. "I know that, but I want to work. Vanessa's gone and the house is empty. Why would I want to sit around alone all day?"

"He has a good point," House said, before popping a cheese puff into his mouth. He chewed a moment then grabbed another one and held it out to Chase. "Here, have one or twenty. Maybe you'll put an ounce on before your weigh in tomorrow."

"I don't need weigh ins," Chase protested, even as he accepted the Cheese puff. Mostly out of habit of doing what House told him to do. "I'm eating just fine. Ask Wilson."

House smirked then let his gaze drift to his friend. "So? Is he eating just fine?"

Wilson sighed. "He's eating," he stated, then he stepped around House and grabbed a plate, making a show of filling it. Which meant he was then able to ignore House.

"Eat that," House ordered, gesturing to the cheese puff Chase was still holding.

"Fine." Just to prove a point, Chase took a bite. It was too spicy and his stomach was not happy with him, but he chewed and swallowed then popped the other half into his mouth and repeated the process. "Happy now?"

House arched one eyebrow. "Ecstatic," he dead-panned. "So...why the party? Why not a funeral like everyone else has then a little gathering at someone's house afterwards?"

Chase didn't want to answer the question, but he could feel three sets of eyes upon him. Wilson already knew the story, but Chase repeated a version of it. "Vanessa wanted people to remember who she was and to celebrate her life, not her passing. She arranged everything over a year ago."

"Like she knew she was going to die," Cameron whispered, sounding a bit horrified by that thought.

"Everyone dies," Chase reminded her, and he got a sympathetic glare for his troubles. But he knew what she meant. That it was as if Vanessa had known she would be gone soon. Like she had planned it and once everything was in place she had chugged down enough alcohol to finish herself off. Or maybe that wasn't what Cameron meant at all, but it was something Chase had thought about. Something that haunted him. Something he would never share with anyone.

Cameron looked uncertain of how to respond to him.

Chase let her off the hook. "I need to mingle," he said sharply. "Thanks for coming. If I don't get a chance to talk again, I'll see you all tomorrow." With that he spun on his heel and walked away. But it wasn't like he could leave and Chase just ended up trapped by everyone's sympathy.

OoO

The moment Chase walked away, House turned to Wilson. "Let's go have chat." He took the other man by the arm and practically dragged him off.

Which left Foreman and Cameron alone.

Cameron looked unhappy. "I hate these things," she grumbled.

"Parties?" Foreman countered, surprise coloring his tone.

"Things related to death and funerals and such," Cameron explained, albeit badly.

Foreman shrugged. "Life and death go hand in hand. You have to learn to deal with both."

Heaving a frustrated sigh, Cameron took a moment to calm herself before replying since she was feeling a little punchy. She let her eyes search the room, coming to focus on Chase who was at the bar talking with two older women. "He looks so fragile," she said softly.

"Once he gets some weight back on he'll look stronger," Foreman replied, his eyes on Chase too.

"Do you think he's ready to come back to work?" Cameron turned to look at Foreman as she asked.

Grimacing, Foreman shrugged again. "Hell if I know. Chase seems to react differently to things than most people do. Like how he doesn't react to House's comments and such. He lets it slide off his back instead of getting angry. He lets people walk all over him rather than putting up a fight. So maybe going back to work will be a positive thing for him. He's got a point about just sitting around an empty house all day."

Cameron supposed Foreman had a point, but she was still worried. "He's not reacting to Vanessa being gone the way I thought he would."

"He's an Intesivist," Foreman replied, as if that explained everything. When Cameron gave him a blank look, he attempted to clarify. "He's used to dealing with death. Maybe he's become somewhat immune to it. Maybe that's how he copes. It's different for everyone."

"Do you think House will cut him some slack, all things considered?" Cameron had been wondering how things were going to be. If they would go back to what she considered normal or if what had happened with Chase, and to Chase, would change all of them in some way. Like the fact that she was determined to help him gain back the weight he had lost, even if that meant hounding him about eating.

"House will be House," Foreman replied. "Whether that's going to be a good or bad thing for Chase remains to be seen. At least Chase will know what to expect."

Cameron could agree with that. "So, do you still intend to help Chase?" she queried. "You know...being one of his food buddies?"

Foreman shifted, looking uncomfortable. "I'm not sure how Chase feels about me being involved with that. I'm not all that thrilled about it, but I suppose I can give it a shot. I mean...it's just keeping an eye on what he eats and stuff."

"It's about more than that," Cameron countered, feeling a bit annoyed at Foreman. He knew he and Chase weren't exactly friends, but they had worked together for almost three years. It wouldn't exactly be a hardship for him to help Chase. "It's about moral support as well," Cameron continued. "He needs that more than anything."

"But will he accept it," Foreman shot back, playing devil's advocate.

Cameron felt determination washing over her. "I'm not going to give him a choice," she stated firmly. And with a grim smile she moved to the buffet table and began filling a small plate.

OoO

House drew Wilson over to a semi-private corner. He then snagged a chair and sat down before asking, "So how's things at the Chase hotel?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "So far so good. His guest room is way better than your couch and he's a better host too."

"I'm wounded," House mocked, dramatically pressing one hand over his heart. "Is he eating? Because he's looking pretty thin tonight?"

"He's eating." Wilson went and snagged a chair for himself, setting it so he could watch the room. He spotted Chase at the bar. "Do you really think his going back to work tomorrow is a good idea?"

House was watching Chase too, and he grimaced when the Aussie caught him at it, acknowledging it with a slight nod. Then House focused his attention on to Wilson. "It's better than him sitting all alone in that big house. Dontcha think?"

Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose, looking tired. "I suppose. Just don't ride him too hard. He's breakable right now."

"You think I don't know that?" House was a bit disgruntled. "And why does everyone seem to think I'm going to shatter Chase? As breakable as he is at the moment, he's also a lot tougher than anyone is giving him credit for."

"You're probably right," Wilson allowed. "But don't go thinking you have to test that theory, okay? Give Chase a breather for now. He's earned the time to grieve and to heal."

House scratched the bridge of his nose, his eyes wandering back to Chase. "But is he grieving? Have you seen him cry?"

Wilson arched both eyebrows at House. "Yeah...cause he seems like the crying type."

"You are," House pointed out, simply because he could and because Wilson hadn't been around for him to harass lately. He'd missed it.

"I'm in a class all by myself," Wilson shot back, not missing a beat.

House couldn't deny the truth of that, so he didn't bother. "Going back to work will be good for Chase," he stated, firmly. Then he went silent, intent on watching Chase work the room. He was moving from person to person, being greeted with hugs and handshakes and offering smiles in return. It was highly entertaining and House slouched into a more comfortable position in his chair to watch.

After a time, Wilson caught on and watched as well, but then he was frowning and tapping House on the shoulder. "What is so fascinating about watching Chase?"

"The way he interacts with everyone," House replied. He had no reason to lie about it.

"He's talking to them," Wilson pointed out.

House nodded. "But it's the way he's talking to them. He's like a Chameleon. He reacts differently to each individual. It's kinda cool."

Wilson opened his mouth to reply, then snapped it closed.

"Go get me more cheese puffs," House ordered. "Leg hurts." He rubbed his thigh to make it look good, although it really did hurt. And the moment Wilson was up and heading back to the buffet table, House popped a Vicodin. Then he smiled as he continued to watch the show.

OoO

For a time, Chase was vibrantly aware of the fact that House was watching him. He told himself he didn't care. Let House watch him, he didn't do tricks for God's sake. After a time he was able to focus on Vanessa's guests, because this was her party after all. But keeping up the facade of charm and warmth was wearing Chase down. Trying to avoid Cameron and her plate of food wasn't helping matters either. She was pretty much dogging his every step, to the point where Chase was reduced to sending pleading glances to Foreman.

It took almost an hour, but Foreman finally got the hint and he herded Cameron out the door. Chase had felt relieved not having to deal with her good intentions any longer. As it was she'd persisted to the point where he'd eaten way more than his stomach was happy with, compelling Chase to exchange his Jack Daniel's for a glass of coke. At least the coke helped settle his queasy stomach.

It didn't magically make everyone disappear though, the way Chase rather wished they would. So he snuck off to the men's room as soon as he could. He relieved himself then splashed water on his pale face, all the while managing to avoid his reflection in the mirror. After five minutes passed by, he realized he would have to head back out to the party, but even as he stepped out of the men's room, Chase found himself waylaid by a familiar face.

"Hello, Robert," Dr. Stewart said in greeting.

"Doctor," Chase replied. "I'm glad you could make it." In truth he hadn't even thought about the man being invited.

Dr. Stewart studied Chase a moment, then asked, "Can we talk for a moment? Privately."

Chase had a feeling he wasn't going to like what Stewart had to say, but he nodded anyway then led the way out to the patio off the back of the place. The night was a bit cool, but the air was crisp and Chase inhaled deeply. He felt Dr. Stewart come to stand beside him.

"How are you doing, Robert?" Stewart queried.

"I'm fine." Did the man really expect him to say anything else.

The other man's eyes roamed over Chase a moment. His voice was quiet when he spoke. "You've lost a lot of weight since I last saw you."

Chase sighed. He should have seen this coming. "I'm fine," he repeated. "If that's all you wanted to talk about, then I have to go back to the party."

"I wanted to say something to you about Vanessa," Stewart shot back, grabbing Chase by the arm as he turned to go. 

"Okay." Chase pulled free of his grasp then waited, pointedly giving Stewart his full attention.

A shuffle of feet then Stewart cleared his throat before beginning. "First thing I want to say is that I'm sorry for your loss. Vanessa wasn't an easy woman to get to know, but she was a good woman for all her faults."

Chase winced and closed his eyes. He knew that better than anyone. But all he said was, "Thank you."

"The other thing I wanted to say is that you need to move on." Stewart's tone sharpened. "You couldn't save her, Robert. No one could. She knew that and it pained her to know that she was going to hurt you in the end. That she hurt you anyway. But she wanted me to tell you that she loved you and that she wants you to be happy because you deserve it."

"When did you two get all chummy?" Chase countered, because what Stewart was saying to him made it sound like he had Vanessa had been chatting recently.

Dr. Stewart made a face, then made a confession. "After she hurt her ankle, we started talking again. She would call me...to talk about you. She knew she was going to hurt you and...she just needed a ear to bend while she worked through that guilt."

Chase felt anger and confusion and doubt twisting inside him. "Was there something else wrong with her?" He asked. "Did she know she was going to die?" Because it sure as hell was beginning to sound like that to Chase.

"Her only sickness was the bottle Robert, and the fact that she was slowly saturating it with alcohol." Stewart looked grim but determined. "I offered to put her in a rehab and to help both of you deal with it, but she refused. She knew her own weaknesses, Robert. She knew that there was a part of her that didn't want to get better, for whatever reasons. She knew that dying was inevitable. Her main concern through all of this was you. She wants you to move on with your life."

"Fine." Chase was abrupt but he wanted this conversation to end. He felt a bit sick at what he was hearing. It was as if Vanessa planned all of this, even the time of her death, and that wasn't something he wanted to deal with right now. The ache in his temples was throbbing and he wanted a beer. He'd seen the bottles of Australian beer at the bar, and he knew Vanessa had imported them just for him. He had no intention of letting them go to waste. "It was good to see you," Chase said politely, not looking at Stewart. Then he was turning and almost running for the door.

He plastered a smile on his face as he stepped back inside, not letting anyone see the turmoil that was twisting him into shreds from within. He never let anything show. So he responded to everyone with politeness as he slowly and steadily made his way to the bar. Once there he asked for his beer and the first swallow tasted like heaven. Silently, Chase made a toast to Vanessa, and he couldn't help wondering if she was watching him from heaven or hell.

OoO

Wilson was keeping a sharp eye on Chase. He watched him drink three beers. Watched the perfect smile become too bright and too fake and then he decided it was time to take Chase home. He knew no one would question Chase leaving early. House had left half an hour ago, and Wilson was rather glad. Wilson was pretty sure that Chase was spiraling for a breakdown and he didn't need House in the audience watching it happen. The man had enough fuel against Chase as it was.

Moving over to Chase's side, he smiled at the woman the Aussie had been talking too and managed to excuse them both. Once off to the side he said, "I think it's time to go. It's getting late and we both have work in the morning."

"Fine." Chase didn't argue, he just finished off the fourth beer in his hand, then set the bottle on a nearby table.

"I'm driving." Wilson held his hand out for the keys. He was glad when Chase just fished them out of his pocket before dropping them into his palm. He watched Chase as they made their way out. The Aussie was smiling as he said his goodbyes to everyone. Then they were outside and Wilson saw Chase drop the facade. His thin frame seemed to sag under a sudden weight, his hair was falling into heavily shadowed eyes and he looked ready to drop. He looked frighteningly fragile and Wilson felt the sudden urge to protect him from the big bad world and all the horrible people it in. Only he knew he was years too late for that. "You were drinking a lot," Wilson commented, as he fell into step beside Chase on the way to the car.

Chase didn't look at him, he just kept walking towards the car. "Not enough," he said as they reached it.

Wilson sighed. "Getting drunk won't help, and do you really want to get sick again?"

"I just want to go home," Chase countered, sagging against the door. "It's locked."

"Right." Wilson hit the button on the keychain, hearing the pop sound of the mechanism releasing. "You should reconsider about going into work tomorrow. You're going to be hungover."

Chase opened the door, but locked eyes with Wilson before moving to get in. "Not your problem," he drawled, then he was in the car and buckling up.

Wilson got in on the driver's side and did the same. "True enough," he allowed. "But you should still stay home and rest tomorrow. I can call House in the morning, or just tell him when I get to work."

"I'm going in tomorrow," Chase replied, leaning his head back against the seat. He looked unutterably weary. "Not going to waste all those calories I drank. I'll have a great weigh in."

"One of the tricks Anorexics use," Wilson shot back, without really meaning too. But he'd read the pamphlets on it then did a bit of research on the internet a few years back after dealing with an anorexic cancer patient. "Drink a lot for water weight gain."

Chase laughed at that. "Truth is, I'll have pissed most of it out by morning." He rubbed a hand over his face then sighed. "I think I'm a little bit drunk."

Wilson wasn't about to deny that, but the truth was Chase held his liquor better than he would have expected. Far better than Wilson ever had. "You hide it pretty well."

"Learned from the best," Chase announced, almost brightly.

"I really think you should stay home tomorrow," Wilson said, repeating himself. But he knew Chase wasn't ready to face what tomorrow would bring.

Chase turned his head to face him, his eyes narrowed and a bit of anger glinting through. "I really think you should drive," he stated, his cool tone at odds with how soft he spoke.

Wilson realized he wasn't going to get through to Chase right now, so he gave up gracefully. He started the car and drove home.

OoO

Once home, Chase made his way upstairs. He didn't say a word to Wilson, and the ride home had been silent as well. Chase was glad the man respected his wishes and backed off. He didn't need a keeper.

The moment he was in his room with the door closed, Chase headed for the bathroom to empty his stomach. The beer tasted sour coming back up, which was to be expected. Overall, his stomach was happier with him once it was empty. Not that he didn't still feel light-headed and a bit queasy, but brushing his teeth and splashing cold water on his face helped a little. Just a little, so Chase opted for a quick shower before pulling on boxers and a t-shirt and sliding into bed. Clutched in his hand was a sleeping pill. Taking it would be a bit risky, even though he'd puked up most of the beer he'd drank. As a doctor, Chase knew he shouldn't take it, but he wanted it. He wanted the oblivion it would bring. Sleep without dreams.

Even now, just closing his eyes, he could see Vanessa's face. It made him wonder if he had been looking for the signs the way he should have. If she had really planned everything, even the time of her death. Chase couldn't help but wonder if maybe his mother hadn't done the same thing and he just hadn't noticed. If he'd been paying better attention, would he have been able to stop her from dying when she had. Maybe given her at least a few more years. Or maybe she had just been tired of living. Chase had his moments when he felt the same way. Sometimes living took too much effort.

Rolling onto his left side, he reached out and set the pill on the bedside stand. Maybe he deserved his dreams tonight. He closed his eyes again and, mercifully, drifted off to sleep.

He did dream, but he was tired enough to will them away every time they woke him. But he was still up early and pulling on running clothes. Before heading out, Chase made a pit stop to the kitchen and he made himself drink half a can of ensure. He needed something in his stomach and he knew House was going to make a big deal out of his weigh in.

On the plus side, the Tylenol he took in the middle of the night had made his headache almost disappear and other than a bit of a queasy stomach, Chase didn't feel that bad. No actual hangover, which was a blessing. So he was able to enjoy his run, reveling in the burn. By the time he got back, his jittery feeling was gone.

Wilson was in the kitchen when Chase came in, drinking a glass of orange juice and glancing at a file. He was already dressed for work. "I got paged," he said, answering the questioning look on Chase's face.

"Guess I'll see you there then," Chase replied. He went to the fridge and pulled out the other half of the Ensure, then he grabbed a bottle of water to wash it down with.

"Good run?" Wilson queried, eyeing Chase from head to toe.

Chase nodded. "Pretty good." He smiled before chugging down the Ensure.

Wilson watched him then asked, "Sure you're ready to go back to work?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Chase made a face then swallowed some water to wash the bad taste out of his mouth. "I'm not sick and life goes on. It's as simple as that."

"I suppose it is," Wilson allowed, although he didn't look convinced. Still, he got up and tucked the file back into his brief case. "I'll see you at the hospital."

Chase nodded. "See you." He watched Wilson go then he headed upstairs. He took a quick shower, brushed his teeth, then went searching for a suit jacket that would fit him. He had one he didn't wear much because it had been cut in a way that felt too constricting. It should be just perfect for him now. He found a shirt to go with it and a tie to match, or not match, then he got dressed. Since the jacket was dark brown, Chase put on tan chinos to go with it. They wouldn't make him look as thin, at least he hoped they wouldn't. After seeing his true reflection last night, Chase realized he was becoming paranoid about his appearance.

He'd never cared how he looked before. Never tried to dress like the cool kids. Never wore his hair the way everyone else did. He didn't want to be noticed that way. It was bad enough that he looked like his mother, which everyone would always say. Which translated into good looks that Chase could have lived without. Not that he didn't know how to use them, but he did so mostly to deflect people from seeing too much. But now he was paranoid that people were staring at him again, this time because he was too thin or whatever.

But once he was dressed he didn't look all that different than he remembered. Shaking his head at himself, Chase brushed his hair then sat down to tie on his shoes. Glancing at his watch he saw he had plenty of time to stop at the bake Shoppe. He planned on bringing bagels into work. It would give House something to talk about that wouldn't make Chase feel like poking himself in the eye.

He ended up being the second one into work. Cameron was sitting at the table when he walked in and Chase slid a smile on as she spotted him and jumped up to meet him. He thrust the bag of bagels and cream cheese at her before she could hug him again.

"What's this?" Cameron asked, taking the bag.

"Breakfast," Chase replied.

Foreman walked in just as he spoke. "I'm hungry," he stated. "What did you bring?"

Cameron was peaking in the bag. "Oh, bagels. They smell great and they're still warm." She was pulling out a plain one for herself.

"Coffee ready?" Chase asked, even as he moved to the counter. Cameron's coffee wasn't the best, but he knew it would be strong and he needed the caffeine kick.

"Should be." Cameron moved around him, reaching for napkins. "Thanks for the bagels."

He smiled at her. "Sure thing." After pouring himself some coffee, Chase moved to the table and grabbed a bagel for himself. He watched Foreman slathering cream cheese on his, and Cameron grabbed a knife to do the same, but Chase bit into his plain. It was about all he figured his stomach could handle right now. "So, do we have a case?" he asked, hoping against hope that they did. Otherwise he would no doubt spend his day in the clinic. Or maybe he could talk to Cuddy about working ICU or NICU for today.

Foreman made a face. "Nothing yet. I even checked the clinic before coming up here."

"So did I," Cameron confessed. "We've got nothing."

"But you can do your own damn clinic hours today, Chase," Foreman ribbed him.

Chase had a comeback for that, but just then House made his entrance. 

Blue eyes stared at the bagels before House limped over and grabbed one. He looked at Chase. "You bring them?"

"Yes." Chase knew it was unusual for him to do so and that House would have a comment for it. He wasn't disappointed.

"Nicely done. Sucking up and cheating at the same time," House drawled. "I commend your creativity."

Chase frowned at him. He wasn't sucking up but that he let slide. The cheating bit confused him. "Cheating? What does that mean?"

House smirked at him. "You have your weigh in today and you're trying to up your calories." He munched a big bite of the bagel before continuing. "Did you drink half a gallon of water too, before arriving?"

"No, but I did drink a lot of beer last night," Chase blurted out, and he would have kicked himself if he could. Judging by how wide Cameron's eyes went and the stunned expression on Foreman's face, it had been exactly the wrong thing to say. But it was telling about what they thought about him. It was clear to Chase they expected him to be a victim of his mother's disease. Sure he'd gotten alcohol poisoning and now he'd had a few beers, but were they really that stupid as to think it meant a weakness on his part?

Chase dropped his bagel in the trash, disgusted with himself. He already knew Foreman thought of him as weak and he really didn't want to know Cameron's opinion of him. All he wanted was to get back to work. "If we don't have a case, I'll be in the clinic." He made a move towards the door only to have House intercept him with his cane across Chase's belly.

Grinning widely, House announced, "We have a case. Unexplained convulsions and an icky rash on the back of her knees. Apparently it's not an allergic reaction and she's not an epileptic so it's test running time. He dropped his cane and pointed to Foreman. "Go get a history," he ordered. Then his attention was on Cameron. "Draw blood and stuff and run tests. You know...those things you do so well."

"What's her name?" Foreman asked.

"How should I know," House replied. "She's in 312. Ask her." 

Rolling his eyes, Foreman left.

Cameron soon followed.

Chase stared at House. "What do you want me to do?" He knew he was going to regret asking, and boy was he right.

"Time for your weigh in," House announced. "Follow me." He led the way into his office.

"This is stupid," Chase stated, even as he followed House. He knew the man would hound him if he refused and so it was better to just go along. But he hated being put on the spot like this. Hated being made to feel like something was wrong with him.

House sat down then tapped the scale on the floor with the blunt end of his cane. "Step up, slim."

The mocking at least was familiar and almost comforting. Chase made to step up but House tapped his leg with his cane. "What now?" Chase felt exasperated and angry.

"Shoes off," House ordered.

"They don't weigh enough to matter!" Chase protested.

House shrugged. "Take them off anyway, and your suit jacket. I want honest results."

Chase toed off his shoes and practically yanked his jacket off. He was angry and feeling frustrated and he wanted nothing more than to slug House. Instead he worked on making sure nothing of what he felt was revealed on his face as he stepped onto the scale. He didn't look at the numbers. "Happy now?" Chase stepped off and grabbed his jacket.

"You didn't lose any weight, but you didn't gain any either. Guess that's acceptable. For now." House bent over to shove the scale under his desk.

"Oh...did I happen to mention last night that you have a therapy session with Dr. Burns today?"

"No, you didn't mention it," Chase replied, as he sat down to put his shoes back on. He wasn't happy about it either. Dr. Burns had told him he could set a time after the funeral. When he was ready.

House seemed to read his mind. "No sense putting off the inevitable. Face your fears, Chase. It's better for everyone."

Chase bit back an angry retort. He simply stood up and asked, "What time is the appointment?"

"Five minutes." House had glanced at his watch. "When you're done come back here and I'm sure I'll have loads of stuff for you to do. Some of it even work related.

"Fine." Chase headed for the door, resisting the urge to rub at the ache throbbing in his temples. He walked down the corridor, heading for the elevator, but ended up making a side trip into the bathroom. He emptied his stomach and his only thought was Thank God it happened after the weigh in. Fuck he was a mess. A pathetic mess. 

Spitting into the toilet, Chase got up and headed for the sink. He rinsed his mouth then reached for the pack of gum he had in his pocket. Chewing it helped the bad taste and to settle his stomach. A moment later he was on the elevator and heading for the locker room. Once there he brushed his teeth then he reached for his lab coat. Shrugging it on helped settle his nerves.

Giving his reflection a quick glance, Chase felt satisfied that he looked normal. Today was the day he was going to go back to what was normal. To hell with House and everyone else. He knew what he needed to do, what he needed to be.

Plastering a smile on his face, Chase walked out the door.

He didn't see House lingering in the shadows.

**THE END...of part 15**


	16. Chapter 16

**REWIND...part 16**

Despite his resolve to get his life back to normal, Chase had to fight the urge to walk out the front door. In fact, when the elevator doors opened he was tempted to hit the first floor button. And he might have done just that if he hadn't caught sight of Cuddy striding towards him, determination etched in her body language.

"Dr. Chase, can I have a word?" she called out as she neared him.

"Of course." Chase stepped off the elevator, flinching as the doors closed behind him. Escape was now futile. "Is something wrong?" he asked, when Cuddy reached him. She looked a bit agitated.

Shaking her head, Cuddy put on a smile. "Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to welcome you back to work. But are you sure you're ready to be back?"

He answered her strained smile with one of his own. They were both playing the game and they both knew it. Chase was fine with that. "I'm sure. I'm glad to be back."

"Good." Cuddy visibly relaxed for a moment, only to tense up again as she blurted out, "I'm sorry about not being at the gathering for Vanessa. I had to work."

"I understand," Chase replied. Truth be told, he hadn't even considered her coming to the gathering. It wasn't as if they were friends or anything.

Cuddy sighed a bit then patted his shoulder. "I know you have a session with Dr. Burns so I won't keep you, but I wanted to tell you that if you ever need to talk...my door is always open to you. Just like before."

Chase nodded. "Thank you. I'll remember that." He did appreciate the gesture, even though they both knew he wouldn't take her up on it. But now the niceties were over and he could slip away. "I'd better go."

"Of course." She stepped to the side so he could go past her.

As he headed down the hallway, Chase could feel Cuddy's eyes searing into his back. He tried to ignore it but he was grateful when he reached Dr. Burn's office. He stepped inside and smiled at her receptionist.

Before he could announce himself she stated, "Dr. Chase, Dr. Burns is waiting for you. You can go right in. No need to knock." She pointed to the door off to the left.

"Thanks." Chase walked over to the door and stepped inside. He knew if he hesitated he'd just turn around and leave. Leaving wasn't an option. Leaving would just cause him more problems. He wanted all of his problems to go away. So he would do this session, and whatever other sessions he was forced in too, and he would prove to everyone that he was fine and they could all go back to the way things had been.

"Dr. Chase," Burns said in greeting, as he moved into the room. "You're late. For a minute there I thought I'd have to call out the national guard."

It was meant to be a joke, but it fell flat. Chase still smiled though. Anything to make the next hour move along. "Sorry, Dr. Cuddy needed to speak with me."

Burns arched an eyebrow then nodded. "That's fine then. So long as you weren't trying to avoid me."

"To be honest, I don't believe I need these sessions," Chase replied. When Burns waved him over to the couch to sit, he shook his head and moved to stand behind one of the two arm chairs. Her office was simply decorated with pale green walls, brown, beige and green carpeting and a patterned couch with beige armchairs. Cozy and meant to be homey. Chase felt stifled in here.

"Your past actions seem to prove otherwise," Burns countered. "If a patient had gone through everything you have in the past few months, and reacted the way you have, how would you have diagnosed them? Just patted them on the head and sent them home?"

Chase felt a flare of anger but stifled it. He sensed that Burns was pushing his buttons for a reason. She would soon find out he could wait her out. Chase had learned to be non reactive in any given circumstance, at a young age. He was master of it now. "I wouldn't patronize them," he replied, calmly and quietly.

Dr. Burns looked amused by his response. "Touche," she acknowledged. "Are you ready to get started?"

"Fine." Chase remained standing as he waited for her to start with her questions.

"What was your relationship with your father like?" Burns asked.

Chase flinched and tried to hide it. He had expected this to come up, but he really didn't want to deal with it. Still, he knew he had to give her something if he wanted her to finally leave it alone. "He was mostly and absentee father. Even when he was around. He didn't time for anything or anyone but his work."

Burns nodded and scribbled something on the clipboard she had on her lap. "Did you resent him for that?"

"I suppose." Chase moved away from the chair, drifting over to the window. The sky was overcast now, rather like his mood was becoming. "Look, just so we don't waste each other's time here. I don't have any Dad issues. He was who he was. He preferred his work over my mum and me. He left her when I was fifteen and eventually remarried and had a couple more kids. End of story. And no...I do not want to talk about his death. He was dead to me long before he was put in the ground."

"Fair enough," Burns allowed, scribbling some more. "Let's move on to your job."

Chase sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in the hopes of warding off the beginnings of a tension headache. "What about my job?"

Burns locked eyes with Chase. "Do you like it?"

"I wouldn't do it if I didn't." Chase was surprised she had even asked such a stupid question.

"Have you always wanted to be a doctor?"

Moving away from the window in a futile attempt to try and avoid the intensity of Burns's gaze upon him, Chase moved to stand by her desk. He was tired already and he had a long day ahead of him, but he felt too restless to sit. "All my life," he replied, repeating the lie that had become his moral truth. The sad thing being that Chase had forgotten what the truth had been. As a little kid he had convinced himself that being a doctor was what he wanted and needed to do. That it was the way to get approval from his parents and from God. How pathetic was it that he still clung to that belief, even though both his parents were dead and God seemed to be too far away to reach anymore.

Rising from the corner of the couch where she had perched herself, Burns moved to the back corner of her office. She had a mini fridge and she opened it and removed a bottle of flavored water. "Thirsty?" she asked Chase.

"No, thanks," he replied. He watched her take a drink then move back to the couch. He felt tense waiting for what she would toss at him next.

"Do you like working here?" Burns prompted.

Chase shrugged. "I must, I chose to come here."

A nod and Burns asked, "To work under Dr. House?"

"He has quite the reputation," Chase replied. He didn't want her asking Why House? He hated questions he didn't have answers too. In the three years Chase had been with House, he had yet to figure out why this job was so important to him.

"I imagine you've learned a lot from him?"

Chase wondered just what he had learned, but to Burns he replied, "That's what I came here for. To learn."

A flicker of amusement crossed Burns's face before she schooled it into a neutral expression. "I'll bet you've learned some interesting things from House," She commented, then she cleared her throat and continued, obviously not expecting a reply. "Why Diagnostics when your specialty is Intensive medicine?"

"Everyone likes change," Chase replied, giving as noncommittal a reply as he could. She needed to stop asking questions he couldn't answer.

"What do you see yourself doing when your fellowship is up?" Burns shot back.

Again with the questions he couldn't answer. And this was a question he didn't want to have to answer. He didn't want to think about having to leave House, and that fact bothered him on levels he didn't want to think about. Chase rubbed his forehead, trying to ease what was becoming a full blown headache. "Whatever feels right at the time," he said. Then he glanced at his watch and had to stifle a moan. He had over forty minutes left, and that was subtracting the five minutes he'd been late for.

Burns didn't respond right away, she was busy taking another swallow of water. She then shuffled the pages on her clip board and looked very interested in what she was looking at. A moment later though she looked up and said, "I'd like to talk about your boss and your colleagues. And about Dr. Cuddy as well. We'll start with her in fact. I know that you talked with her in lieu of therapy sessions after you were treated for alcohol poisoning. My understanding was that you requested to talk to her."

"I did," Chase allowed. He couldn't see the harm in admitting to it, although he had a feeling he was going to regret it in some way down the road.

"Why?" 

Chase turned away for a moment so Burns couldn't see the face he made. He was tired and his head hurt and he wanted to be any place but here. He hated being on the spot like this. Every question she was asking him was personal and it was none of her damn business. It grated all the more knowing that if he wanted to keep working, he had to be here and he had to do this. Which meant he had to find some way to deal with Burns and her questions. Chase just wasn't sure if he had the patience to deal with it today.

There was the shuffling sound of movement behind him and Chase turned back to see that Dr. Burns had moved to sit behind her desk. She had her clipboard laid out in front of her and her water to her right. She was eyeing him with curiosity in her gaze. He moved to sit in the straight chair in front of her desk. She didn't need to have physical verification of how this was affecting him. He knew how to hide in plain sight and how to deflect anything and everything. He would just have to step up and beat her at this stupid game. Because that's what he considered this to be. Nothing but a stupid game. "I felt more comfortable talking to Dr. Cuddy," Chase replied.

"Are you friends?" Burns prompted.

"No. She's my boss but she's been good to me. Fair." Chase shifted in the chair a bit and he had to stifle the urge to bobble his leg up and down.

Burns nodded. "But why could you talk to her but not a shrink?"

It surprised Chase a bit that she used the term shrink. He'd always supposed they didn't think of that term in a positive light. But he ignored his thought meanderings to reply in a way he thought would get her off this particular subject matter. "She wasn't a friend or a stranger. She was in between enough that I felt I could talk to her. I'm not good with sharing my feelings. To be honest, I feel like you're invading my privacy and I don't like it much."

"Yeah...I got that impression the first time we talked," Burns conceded, and she didn't seem all that bothered by it. "Why do you think it's hard for you to talk about yourself and your feelings?"

"It just is," Chase replied. "I wasn't raised to be open and I'm not comfortable with people knowing my life story."

Burns was writing notes again. "Is that because you don't want them to feel sorry for you?"

Chase was startled by that question. "Why would they feel sorry for me?" To his mind he figured people would be more disgusted than anything. That they would point a finger at him and tell him it was his own fault so deal. Which is what he had always tried to do. To deal with the shit life hit him with.

"You don't think you've had a sympathetic childhood?" It was Burns's turn to be surprised.

"No more than anyone else," Chase replied, honestly. Not that he knew about the lives of anyone else here. Nor did he want to know. Knowing personal stuff didn't make you a better friend or a better person, to his mind. It just gave you or others more ammunition to fuck people over with. Because in the end, everyone was human and flawed and looking out for themselves. Chase had learned that from his parents.

A arch of an eyebrow then Burns was nodding and scribbling then asking a new question. "How do you feel about Dr. Cameron?"

Chase shrugged. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what the right thing was to say to get Burns to move on. He sucked in a breath, exhaled slowly, then gave his best shot. "She's a good person, a good doctor."

"Are you friends?"

"Not really." Chase stared down at his hands, fighting the urge to bit at his thumb and wishing he had a pencil handy to bite on.

Dr. Burns made a scrunchy face. "So you don't have drinks together or go out for lunch or anything?"

Chase resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Sure we've done that," he allowed. "Foreman too. But as colleagues."

"So you're not friends with your co-workers?" She made the question sound really important.

"We come here to work, not to be buddies," Chase calmly replied. "The work we do is very hands on and very intense. I think we make a good team overall, but it's just about work."

More scribbling then Burns asked, "So you have no desire to be friends with them?"

Chase shook his head. "Not really. It would just complicate things."

"Why?"

"It just would." He started picking at a nail, just to have something to do with his hands.

There was a long moment of silence before Burns asked, "Have you made friends here? I mean, here in the states. Being so far from home and family must be hard."

Chase bit his lip, hard, to keep from making an angry comment. She was getting to be too nosy with her questions. He knew the whole point of the sessions was to talk about his life and his feelings, but it was no one's god damn business and his resentment was starting to build. "I came here to get away from home." There, that should give her enough fodder to keep her happy for a time.

"I see." Burns looked intrigued. "You didn't answer my question about friends. Have you made friends here?"

"I have people I hang out with," Chase allowed. He was not about to get specific. But he had a feeling he knew what Burns was going to ask next so he beat her to the punch. "And no...I haven't hung out with them much since I started seeing Vanessa."

Burns looked almost disappointed by being beaten to the punch line, so to speak. "Why is that? Didn't Vanessa like your friends?"

Chase took a calming breath, trying to ease the knot of anger that was forming a knot in his stomach. "Between work and being with Vanessa, I didn't have a lot of time for anything or anyone else," he replied. "It's as simple as that."

"Okay." A moment of silence other than the sound of pen on paper, then Burns eyed her watch making Chase glance at his. He had another twenty-five minutes to suffer through. "What was your mother like?" Burns asked.

"She was very beautiful and a good person," Chase replied. "She came from old money." He realized he was almost reciting his comments, and it was something of a habit. It was the description of his mother he had clung to since childhood. The one that didn't reveal any of what she had become. Chase didn't want to talk about his mother, but he had been expecting this and he hoped to deal with it then put it behind him.

Dr. Burns took a moment to drink some more water. She took her time screwing on the cap then her voice was soft as she asked, "Did she love you?"

Chase thought that was one of the stupidest questions he had ever heard, but he answered it honestly. "She tried."

"Did you end up having to take care of her?" Burns leaned back in her chair, folding her fingers over her stomach and looking supremely interested in what his reply would be.

"I suppose." Chase could see the disappointment in Burns's face at his reply, but he didn't' care. He wasn't here to feed her curiosity. He was here because he didn't have a choice.

Eyebrows arching till they nearly reached her hairline, Dr. Burns asked the one question she shouldn't have. "Did you resent her for it?"

Chase nearly bolted out of his chair, moving to place his palms on Burns's desk and leaning in a bit. He doubted he was the least bit intimidating, but he wasn't trying to scare her. He simply wanted her to understand. "The only thing I regret is you asking that question!" he snapped. But his voice was still low and controlled as he continued. "My mother had her problems which you know nothing about. She drank because of those problems and in the end it killed her. I loved her and I wish she was still alive...but she isn't. And that is all I will ever say to you about her. Understood?"

"Understood." Burns sounded sincere. "We only have a short time left and there is one other thing I would like to talk about. It deals in part with your mother, but more as a segue way than anything else."

"What?" Chase backed off from the desk, but remained standing, arms folded across his chest. He had to lock his knees a bit though, because he felt tired enough to curl up on the floor and fall asleep. He wished he could go home now, but that would be admitting defeat and he wasn't about to let that happen.

Burns sat up straight, almost like she was preparing herself for a verbal attack, and asked, "Was your mother anorexic?"

The question surprised Chase to the point where he backed up and sat down as he tried to wrap his mind around why she would ask such a thing. Then it suddenly hit him why. She thought maybe he had learned the behavior from his mother, which pissed him off because he was so fucking tired of repeating himself. He wasn't anorexic. Taking a moment to calm himself, Chase finally replied, "No, she wasn't." He didn't bother to explain how she had gone from being slim and athletic and vibrant to being pale and bloated and staggering around clutching a bottle of gin.

"Have you ever had weight problems?" Burns persisted.

"Are you asking me if I was ever a fat kid?" Chase shot back, feeling his anger rising again. "The answer is no. I was never fat and I never had food issues. I eat when I'm hungry. I love chocolate and cheeseburgers and pizza. If I'm feeling stressed I don't always eat. End of story." And by that he meant he was done with this conversation. He had no idea how much time was left, but he was finished. Turning on his heel, Chase strode over to the door. He half expected Burns would call him back and he was relieved when she didn't say a word.

Two minutes later Chase was in the nearest men's room. He felt nauseous but he was able to control the urge to vomit and after a few minutes he was able to head for the conference room.

House was waiting for him. "You look a bit peaked. Session not go well?"

"What do you need me to do?" Chase countered, not rising to the bait. He wasn't about to satisfy House's curiosity. To that end he rather wished Cameron and Foreman were around so House would have someone else to focus on.

"My laundry?" House shot back, waggling his eyebrows dramatically.

But Chase wasn't playing the game today. He didn't have the energy for it. "What do you need me to do regarding our new patient?" he specified.

House looked disappointed but replied to the question. "Go get a history. Apparently he didn't feel comfortable talking to Cameron."

"I thought the patient was female?" Chase felt confused. Maybe he'd just remembered wrong. He wouldn't put it past himself today.

"My bad," House drawled. "I get that whole gender thing confused sometimes. Besides which, I hadn't read the file earlier. Cuddy just handed it to me and said, room 312. New patient. I had a fifty-fifty chance of getting the gender right."

Pain drummed in Chase's temples, but he resisted the urge to rub them. House was watching him too closely and he wasn't about to give anything away. "Fine." Not wanting to push his luck, since House seemed inclined to let him off the hook, so to speak, Chase headed for the door.

Five minutes later he entered room 312, plastering a smile on his face. He'd grabbed a clipboard at the nurses station and as he entered the room he introduced himself to the man in the bed. "Good morning, sir. I'm Dr. Chase. I'm working on your case with my colleagues and I need to get a history."

The patient looked to be in his sixties. He had silver-gray hair, dark eyes, skin that looked leathery, no doubt from too much exposure to the sun, and a thin mouth that looked drawn down in disapproval. "Aren't any of you doctors older than twenty-one?" he groused.

"I assure you I'm old enough to be a doctor," Chase calmly replied. It wasn't the first time he'd heard that complaint. Between him and Cameron they got that response at least once from just about every patient they took care of. Moving to the chair beside the bed, Chase sat down and prepared to write. "Let's start with your name," he requested. Since House hadn't given it to him and he hadn't glanced at the chart yet. He liked to ask the patient their name anyway. Sometimes they gave something a bit different than was on the chart anyway.

"I'm Father Patrick Michael Anthony," came the reply.

Chase's head shot up and he stared at the man in disbelief. "Father Anthony..." he echoed, as his stomach twisted into a knot. Now he knew why House hadn't messed with him in the office. The joke was lying in the bed before him.

Father Anthony looked irritated. "Is that a problem?" He asked. "That other doctor, the woman, she didn't seem to like me much. She's a sinner!"

"Age," was all Chase said. But he felt like laughing inside.

**THE END...of part 16**


	17. Chapter 17

**REWIND...part 17**

It had taken an agonizingly long time for Chase to get what amounted to about half a page of information on Father Anthony. The Priest had been more interested in ranting and raving about Cameron and the nurses here, and about Chase himself, than he had been in giving out the history they needed. Chase had basically tuned out everything but the responses he needed, but he'd had to pull it out of the man.

By the time he left the room, he felt worn out and a headache was forming in his temples. So before making his way to House's office, Chase made a pit stop at the soda machine, opting for a Mt. Dew. He took a long swig, waited for the caffeine jolt to kick in, then he headed for the stairs. The exercise wouldn't be much, but it had to help give him at least a bit of energy.

When he reached the office doors, he paused for a minute for another swig of soda, then he girded his loins, so to speak, and stepped inside. House was kicked back in his chair with ear phones one, fingers tapping a beat on his thighs. Chase didn't interrupt him. He just sat down in the chair closest to the desk and waited.

It wasn't long before House sensed his presence, or seemed too, since he didn't look all that surprised to see him. He simply shucked the ear phones and hit a button on his Ipod. "So, did you get the history?"

"What there is of it," Chase replied, holding out the file.

"Give me the crib notes version," House requested, ignoring the file.

Chase dropped the folder on the desk then blurted out what he had. "He says he was an orphan so he never knew his parents and therefore has no family medical history to impart. But he did say he's been feeling tired for months and that he's been suffering neck and leg pain. Recently he's gotten dizzy a few times, mostly when he's on his feet for too long."

House did not look impressed. "Anything else?"

"No." Uncapping his soda, Chase took another swig. After screwing the cap back on he found the bottle plucked from his hand. "Hey!" He tried to get it back but House tossed it in the trash can. "What are you doing?" Chase was on his feet and pissed.

"That's the last thing you need," House countered. He stood up, not the least bit impressed by Chase's glowering, and headed for the door. "Come on, it's lunch time."

Chase didn't move. "You're not my lunch buddy!" He could not believe he'd just said that either. He hated the very thought of food buddies, but Cameron had already informed him earlier that she would be eating lunch with him.

House shrugged. "Cameron is busy so you're stuck with me."

"You love to torture me, don't you?" Chase snapped. It wasn't a comment he would usually make, but he was feeling grouchy and tired and he didn't want to deal with House today, any more than he had too.

"It's one of the perks of the job," House allowed, pushing the door open. "Out, now." It was a command that he, obviously, expected to be obeyed.

Since Chase didn't have the energy, or the will, to argue with him, he swept past House heading straight for the stairs. House would use the elevator so Chase could easily lose him. Only House moved faster than Chase would have expected and he suddenly found his way blocked by the larger man.

House tapped Chase on the leg with the end of his cane. "Elevator is that way. Nice try though, junior."

"I'm not hungry right now." Chase knew he sounded petulant, but he was past caring.

"This isn't about whether you're hungry or not," House calmly replied. "And you know it. It's about stuffing you full of calories. At least pretend to be a good doctor and do what you know needs to be done. You want to get better, don't you?"

Chase felt anger roiling through him, felt his hands forming into fists which he shoved into his lab coat pockets. "I'm not sick!" He spat the words out like a cat snarling at a stranger.

House did nothing more than arch an eyebrow at him, then he herded Chase down the hallway and into the elevator. "Prove it," he challenged, as he hit the proper button for their destination.

"What do you mean, prove it?" Chase countered. Because for the life of him he couldn't think of any way. He'd told everyone he was fine and no one believed him. They were the ones who were fucked up and delusional. Not him. So how did he prove anything to people who weren't willing to listen to reason.

"Simple." House was grinning at him, but there wasn't even a touch of humor in the action. "Stop arguing with me and eat lunch. That will go a long way to proving your point."

Chase shook his head. House didn't care about anything but getting Chase to do what he wanted. Fine. He'd eat lunch if it meant getting House to leave him alone for the rest of the day. He said nothing more as the elevator deposited them on the ground floor. He simply followed House out and into the cafeteria. He even let House pick out lunch for him, but he balked at paying for them both. "Buy your own damn lunch!" Chase snapped at him, pulling a five out of his pocket for his own meal. But, to his surprise, House waved it away, handing a ten over to the cashier.

Tapping the tray, House told Chase, "Carry that to the table."

"Fine." Chase scooped it up then let House lead the way over to the far corner. He then put the tray down and pulled out a chair.

"Bon apetit," House said, as he plunked a plate down in front of Chase before taking his own seat. He also set a tall glass of milk in front of him.

Chase eyed it with disfavor. He liked milk, but he would have preferred his Mt. Dew. So he ignored it for now in favor of unwrapping his sandwich. He found he wasn't the least bit surprised to discover it was a Reuben. He didn't like them and he knew House was aware of that fact. But Chase didn't say a word of complaint. Mainly because he knew House was waiting for him to do just that. He was tired of playing into House's games. Instead he focused on tearing the sandwich into bite sized bits.

House watched him for a time then said, "Neat trick."

"What?" Chase was confused by the comment.

"What you're doing," House stated.

Chase looked down at the piles of sandwich bits strewn over his plate. "What are you talking about?"

House looked sincerely amused. "You're playing with your food. Tearing it into pieces and moving it around the plate without actually eating a bit of it. It's a trick anorexics love to use."

"That might actually be interesting, if I was anorexic," Chase shot back. Then, locking eyes with House, he took one of his sandwich pieces and put it in his mouth. The taste of it made him scrunch up his face, but Chase chewed and swallowed it down. He had a point to make here. Which was the fact he didn't need someone to watch over him.

"So...what did Burns make you talk about?" House queried. "Mommy and Daddy issues?" After asking he took a huge bite of his own sandwich and chewed loudly.

Chase knew that House was just trying to irritate him. Sadly, it was working, along with jacking up the pain in his temples. Resisting the urge to try and rub away the pain, Chase replied calmly, "None of your business. You have heard of Doctor-patient confidentiality. Right?"

House nodded. "Heard of it." He paused to suck down a big swallow of his lemonade. "It's highly overrated though," he continued. "So...what did you tell her? Enquiring minds want to know."

"You'll get over it," Chase countered. He took another bite of his sandwich then had to reach for his milk to wash it down. He could feel House watching him intently and he tried not to care or react to it.

"So how did you manage to get all that info from Father Anthony?" House asked, smoothly shifting topics.

Chase shrugged. "It wasn't all that much," he reminded his boss.

House chuckled. "True, but it was more than Cameron got. She told me the good Father was cantankerous, mean and rude. I think he offended her." House leaned in and spoke in a confidential whisper for the last bit. Then he leaned back and made a show of studying Chase. "Let me guess, you told him you were a choir boy and he got all shuddery and happily spilled his guts."

"You're a sick bastard," Chase replied, not looking up at House. Instead he continued to play with the sandwich bits on his plate. Hopefully House would get bored soon and leave, then he could toss lunch and head for the clinic or at the very least be sent to run some tests. Any place that didn't involve having to deal with House.

"Drink your milk," House said suddenly, shoving the glass closer. "I want it all gone. No leaving the table until it is and you've finished at least half your sandwich. Oh...and dessert." House laid a plate with a slice of chocolate cheese cake in front of Chase. "You can get your caffeine high along with about a thousand calories all in one fell swoop."

Chase felt anger crackling inside him. He lifted his head to glare at House. "Stop treating me like a five year old!" he snarled.

House was not the least bit intimidated. "Then stop acting like one."

"Pot - Kettle," Chase smoothly retaliated. And he felt a bit proud of himself for that one. Especially when House grinned at him.

"Touche," House conceded. "But you still need to eat." He looked about ready to grab the food and shove it down Chase's throat, when his pager went off. Cursing, House fished it out of his pocket, scanning the message then rising to his feet. "Eat because I'll know if you don't," he ordered, shaking a finger at Chase. "And you will be punished." With that threat lingering between them, House turned and limped away.

Chase watched House go, not touching his food. He then simply stared at it before picking up a bite and putting it in his mouth. He only managed a few bits, a couple of bites of the cheese cake and half the glass of milk, and he hated himself for giving in to House's threat. But in the end he always gave in. It made his life easier.

Rising to his feet, Chase collected the tray and the plates, dumped everything in the bins they belonged in, then made his way back to the conference room. But he made another pit stop at the soda machine for another Mt. Dew. It was a stupid gesture of defiance, but it made him feel better. It made him feel like he had at least a little bit of control.

It helped that he didn't see House for the rest of the day, which he spent in the conference room and the labs, running what tests they could then going over the information they had.

By days end, Chase was more than ready to go home.

OoO

He was tired and relieved that Wilson wasn't there yet. Chase felt almost lethargic as he climbed the stairs to his room, yet he also felt too hyped up to sleep. No doubt the three bottles of Mt. Dew that House didn't know about. He hated feeling so tired, which meant he needed to kick start his adrenaline. So he stripped out of his work clothes, pulled on sweats and a t-shirt and headed out for a run.

Which turned out to be a stupid idea on his part. He hadn't gone half a mile when he got a stitch in his side that he had to walk off. But then he started to feel shaky, so he turned around and started jogging back, only to get hit with a wave of dizziness that sent him stumbling to his knees. He hit hard and yelped when stone tore into his right knee cap as he skidded forward a bit. Cursing, Chase gripped his aching knee with one hand as he sat with his head down between his legs while he waited for the dizziness to pass.

By the time he got home it was nearing dark. He was limping and not happy to hear puttering noises in the kitchen. Wilson was there. Chase hoped to slip upstairs and shower without being noticed, but Wilson must have heard him because he came out with a towel tucked into the waistband of his trousers, like an apron, and eyed Chase with concern.

"You okay?" Wilson asked.

"Fine." Chase wasn't going to tell him about the dizziness or the fall. He didn't need Wilson hovering or mothering.

Wilson moved closer. "You don't look fine. You look pale and shaky and you have blood on your pant leg."

Chase grimaced and figured he'd better offer a bit of an explanation. "I pushed a bit too hard and I tripped. It's nothing. I'm going to shower and clean it up."

"Don't take long," Wilson countered. "I made spaghetti for dinner and it's almost ready."

"Right." Chase continued up the stairs, feeling relieved at making his escape so easily. Once in his room he stripped off his running clothes and tossed the sweat pants straight into the trash can. He then limped into the bathroom, trying hard not to think about House, since he was limping on the same leg. He turned the shower on as hot as he could stand it, then stepped hissing at the heat as it hit his skin. After a moment it felt blissful though, until he turned his knee into it.

By the time he was done washing up and had dried off and toweled his hair to dampness, Chase felt like he'd just run a marathon. Yet at the same time he still felt jittery. He made a mental note to lay off the Mt. Dew as he pulled on boxers and a long-sleeved t-shirt. He left jeans sitting on the bed so he could bandage his knee first. Which meant getting the first aid kit which was in the master bedroom. Only even as he headed for the door, Wilson was there.

He held up a first aid kit. Not Chase's. "Got this from my car," he said, as he stepped in and laid it on a nearby dresser top. "I wasn't sure how up to date yours was." He moved closer to peer at Chase's leg. "That looks painful."

"It's fine." Chase had to resist the urge to try and cover it with one hand. He felt rather like a small child reluctant to let his mother clean his scrape because he knew it would hurt. It was easier to inflict his own pain. He was used to it.

"Being a doctor, I bet I can make that judgment call for myself," Wilson calmly replied. "Sit." He waved at the end of the bed.

Chase sat because it was easier than arguing. But he watched Wilson clean the area, wincing only a little as he probed it, and assuring him he didn't cause any serious damage to himself. "I was just a bit clumsy," Chase insisted.

Wilson nodded, head bent as he taped a square of thick gauze over Chase's knee with flexible tape. "Thing is, you don't strike me as the clumsy type. If fact you have this innate grace to you."

"You make it sound like you watch me a lot," Chase replied, feeling unnerved at the thought.

"I have been lately," Wilson allowed. He patted Chase on the thigh then stood up. "You're good to go. Finish getting dressed and I'll have supper on the table."

Chase said nothing to that, he just watched him go. Then he got up and grabbed his jeans, carefully pulling them on. They were baggy enough not to be tight around his knee. He'd take some aspirin later because he knew it was going to ache. That done he headed for the door but caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. He looked pale and thin and haunted. Chase turned away not wanting to see the truth. He much preferred the lie.

In the kitchen, Wilson had everything ready. Chase studied the food on his plate and wished he could say a spell and make it disappear. Being Harry Potter right now would have been wonderful. He could make all the bad things in his life disappear. Then again, that didn't work for Harry either. His thoughts were running away with him, which meant he really needed to get some sleep soon, Chase made himself focus on eating.

"You okay?" Wilson asked, between bites of his own food.

"Why do you ask?" Chase countered. Because he was getting tired of the question. He twirled spaghetti around his fork but ended up eating only a small bit of it. He wasn't the least bit hungry tonight and would have skipped dinner if Wilson wasn't around.

After a pause for a drink of water, Wilson replied, "Because you look like shit."

Chase almost appreciated his candor. "It was a long day," he admitted.

"Maybe you should stay home tomorrow." Wilson looked sincere. "It was too soon for you to go back to work."

"It's not!" Chase felt anger sparking through him and he tried to control it. He hated losing control like this, but he was struggling with it every day now. It used to be easier to control his emotions. He wanted everything to go back to the way it had been. His life had never been perfect, but now it felt like everything was fucked up and twisted. He glared at Wilson in spite of his best efforts. "I just need time to get back in to the routine. It'll get easier for me."

Wilson nodded, not looking the least bit convinced. "Just be careful, Chase. If you push yourself too hard you're going to make it harder on yourself in the long run."

Feeling disgruntled, Chase stabbed at a meatball, but he didn't eat it. "You know...I've been taking care of myself since I was a kid. I don't need your advice."

"Everyone needs help now and then, Chase," Wilson countered. "And some people are wise enough to accept it."

"But you think I'm as stupid as House does!" Chase shot back. And he would have taken back the words if he could have. It was a testimony to how tired he was that they came out of him. He shook his head. "Forget I said that. I'm just tired."

Wilson wasn't buying his excuse. "I don't think you're stupid, Chase. Neither does House. If you were stupid he wouldn't have hired you. But you have a tendency to make stupid choices. Which is actually understandable given your background."

Chase was stunned by what Wilson was saying. "Why is it understandable? Because my mother drank herself to death and my father didn't give a damn? That makes me make stupid choices?" He was fighting not to yell and the effort to keep his voice soft made his throat ache.

"It means you didn't have the parental guidance kids need while growing up," Wilson said, keeping his voice soft as well. "We're supposed to learn from our parents."

"Learn what?" Chase snapped. "How not to raise our own children in the future? What not to do? I learned those lessons well, thank you!" Sarcasm practically oozed from him. "I'll never be like my father!"

Wilson nodded. "But you're trapped in your mother's web. Her influence on you is something you haven't been able to shake. It's something you're trying to avoid dealing with."

Chase had had enough. "What are you? Taking over for Dr. Burns? I don't need to be evaluated in my own house!" He got up and made to storm out, but a hand on his arm pulled him back. Wilson looked apologetic. Chase pulled away from him, stumbling a bit. "Look..."

"No, I'm sorry!" Wilson interjected. "I'm not here to make things harder for you. I was out of line. I said what I said out of concern."

"Why do you even care?" Chase shot back? "I'm nothing to you! We're not friends or even colleagues really. So why would you care?"

Wilson made a face, then made an attempt to explain. "People care, Chase. At least...some people do. It's part of human nature to care about each other. And even though we've never been close, I've come to know you better in the past few months. I like what I know. So...I care. It's that simple."

Chase made the effort to calm down. Stressing out was making his head ache and his stomach twist into knots. He took a few slow breaths and managed to ease his anxiety a bit. Locking eyes with Wilson he said, "Fine. I'm sorry I overreacted. I think I'm just going to go to bed."

"Okay." Wilson looked almost relieved. "But there's something I'd like to talk about before you go. If you don't mind."

"What is it?" Chase wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he did want to get it over with.

Wilson shuffled his feet, looking uncomfortable. "I know you don't want me here and I feel intrusive enough without paying my own way. So I'd like to start paying rent. That way we can both look at this as more of a business deal."

Chase hadn't expected this and it threw him a bit. "I don't need your money."

"That's not the point," Wilson countered. "I'd feel better paying you something."

"Fine. Whatever. Do what you like." Chase turned and headed for the door. "Goodnight," he called over his shoulder. He heard Wilson reply as he reached the stairs. Chase made it to his room, stripped off his jeans, then he crawled into bed. But fifteen minutes later he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep without help. So he got up and fished out the bottle of sleeping pills. He shook one out then another. He knew one wasn't going to cut it and he was desperate for a good night's sleep.

Filling a glass with water, Chase downed the pills then he crawled back into bed. He counted backwards from one hundred, just to distract his mind, and before he reached twenty, he was asleep.

OoO

"Chase!"

He heard his name being called, then someone was shaking him. He had to pretty much peel his eyes open, then blink hard to bring Wilson's face into focus. "Wh-what?" he mumbled.

Wilson looked grim. In one hand he was holding the bottle of sleeping pills. "How many did you take?"

"What?" Chase felt more awake now and he pushed himself upright.

"How many pills did you take?" Wilson repeated, shaking the bottle.

Chase caught his breath in shock as he realized he must have left the bottle out. Stupid of him. Then again, Wilson shouldn't have come into his room uninvited. "Give me those!" Chase reached for the bottle but Wilson pulled it away.

Looking angry, Wilson locked eyes with Chase. "How many? Two? Three?"

"Two!" Chase snapped. "Not that it's any of your business?"

"Really?" Wilson was snapping now too. "It becomes my business when I can't wake you up!"

Chase glanced at his watch. He had over slept by two hours. So much for his run today. If he didn't get up and in the shower, he was going to be late for work. "I was tired," he said as he tossed back the covers. The moment he was on his feet he remembered his sore knee. He winced and tried not to limp as he headed for the bathroom.

Wilson followed him. "How long have you been taking sleeping pills?" he persisted.

"Not long and not that often," Chase lied. He turned the water on then turned to look at Wilson. "Do you mind? I have to get ready for work."

"How long is not long?" Wilson asked, not budging from the doorway.

Chase shrugged, making himself remain calm. He wasn't going to let Wilson blow this out of proportion. "I don't keep track. You're not going to mention this to House, are you?" That thought sent a surge of panic through Chase that he was hard put to cover up.

Wilson shrugged, cold determination glittering in his eyes. "Should I?"

"Do what you want," Chase said, trying to sound like he didn't care. If he made it sound too important, Wilson would mention it to House for sure. Chase didn't need more drama in his life right now.

"I'm taking the pills," Wilson said, shoving them in his pocket. "If you need something to help you sleep in the future, ask me for it."

Chase was angry about that, but let it slide for now. He would simply stop at a drug store and get more. Screw Wilson. "Fine," he said quietly. "Can I shower now?"

Wilson nodded. "I'll be waiting downstairs. I'm driving you to work today." With that he was gone, closing the door behind him.

"Fuck," Chase muttered, then he stripped and stepped into the shower. He knew it was going to be a long day.

OoO

He made it to work barely on time and House cracked jokes about him and Wilson. It felt blissfully normal for all of ten seconds. Then House was shoving a bagel in front of Chase and watching him intently. Which meant Chase had to eat it, even though he felt like gagging after about three bites. Still, he managed to finish most of it by the time they're meeting was done.

"Father Anthony won't let Cameron or Foreman near him to get more tests done," House stated, looking directly at Chase. "In fact, he asked for you so you get to do all the work today. Neat, huh? But the cool thing is, Foreman's going to do your clinic hours for today."

"What?" Foreman interjected. "Why?"

House glared at him. "Because I said so. Which is so much fun for me." He waved hand at Foreman who got the hint and left.

Chase watched Cameron follow him, then he focused on House. "Don't expect me to do any better with Father Anthony. He just wants to rant at me." A sudden image of another priest filled his head. A man who looked a bit like Father Anthony and whose tone was just as blistering as he chastised Chase yet again. He shook the image away and stood up.

"So rant back at him," House advised. "After your weigh in." He gestured Chase into the office.

"It's stupid to do this so often," Chase protested. "Mainly because he knew he hadn't gained anything and he really wasn't in the mood for House's bitching.

House shrugged. "It amuses me. Get on the scale."

But before Chase could take a step forward, Cuddy came breezing in looking furious. 

"We need to talk, House!" she snapped at him.

"Later." House made a shooing gesture at her.

Cuddy didn't budge. "Now." She looked at Chase and said, "You can go."

He nodded and left, not looking a gift horse in the mouth. He headed down the hallway and all too soon he was entering Father Anthony's room. "Good morning," he said, trying to be pleasant.

"What's good about it?" Father Anthony replied. Then he went into a rant about sin and sinners and felt the need to bring Cameron and Foreman into it.

Chase listened to it for a time, then he quietly interjected with, ""If, though, despite these things, you will not listen to me, I shall then have to chastise you seven times as much for your sins." He watched as Father Anthony cut off in mid rant and stared at him with his mouth gaped open.

After a moment the Priest recovered himself and demanded, "How do you know that passage?"

"Seminary school," Chase replied, as he began to take Father Anthony's vitals. "I went for a short time."

"You would have made a lousy priest," Father Anthony replied.

Chase nodded. "I know," he said quietly. He had always known his faith would not be strong enough. "Happy is the man that has not walked in the counsel of the wicked ones, and in the way of sinners has not stood, and in the seat of ridiculers has not sat," he quoted blithely.

Father Anthony gazed at him with narrowed eyes.

"You don't seem happy," Chase continued. He figured Father Anthony shouldn't be casting stones while living in a glass house.

"Gods work is difficult," Father Anthony countered, looking angry.

Chase understood that better than most. "We're all sinners so you have your work cut out for you."

Shifting in the bed, Father Anthony looked disquieted. He stared at Chase for a long moment then said, "Those other doctors said I needed more tests. Do them. I need to get better."

"Thank you," Chase replied. "That's what we're here for." He rang for a nurse to bring what he needed and to call for them to set up for a MRI. He turned away for a moment when the nurse arrived, but turned back when Father Anthony started choking. Chase helped him sit up more and was about to ask what felt wrong when Father Anthony coughed up blood. Chase let the nurse support him while he checked Father Anthony's stomach. "He has internal bleeding!" he shouted. "Call the OR!"

Within fifteen minutes Chase was standing at the glass window, watching as Father Anthony was cut open. Five minutes later he listened as the man flat lined and felt oddly empty and detached as he watched the surgeon turn to look up at him and give a thumbs down. He just stood there for a time, before leaving to give House the news.

Cameron and Foreman were in the conference room and House was in his office. Chase watched him come into the conference room, even as he entered. "Father Anthony just died in the OR," Chase announced.

"What happened?" Cameron asked.

"He bled out." Chase moved to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee that he didn't want. He just needed something to do. But he ended up not drinking it because his hand was shaking too much to hold the mug.

Foreman looked surprised but resigned. "Guess we need a new patient then."

House made a face. "Cameron, go find us something. Foreman, go oversee the autopsy then bring me the report."

"I'm going to go to ICU," Chase announced. He needed to keep busy.

"Go to the clinic and do my hours instead," House told him.

Chase stared at him in surprise. He had expected the Inquisition from House, but the man was just letting him go. Which was fine with Chase. He walked out and down to the clinic and found Cameron waiting for him.

She touched his arm and eyed him with concern. "Are you okay?"

"Sure," Chase replied. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno...you just look...upset." she replied.

Chase shook his head. "I'm fine." It was a blatant lie and for a moment he feared she wouldn't believe him, but then she was nodding and stepping back, giving him some breathing space. "House sent me to do his clinic hours."

Cameron didn't look surprised. "Maybe between us we'll find a new case."

"Hope so." He meant it. Turning away, Chase headed for the nurses station to sign in. He smiled at the head nurse as he scribbled in House's name, then he accepted the chart she handed him.

"Chase?"

He turned to find Cameron watching him. "Yeah?"

She looked hesitant, but then she blurted out, "Foreman and I were going to go to dinner after work. Just to chill out for a bit. Would you like to come with us?"

"Sure." He surprised himself with the answer, then again, maybe not. He didn't want to go home tonight. He knew Wilson would be watching him too closely. "Um...Wilson was my ride. Would you be able to drop me off home after?"

"No problem." Cameron looked pleased. "Guess we'd better get to work."

Chase smiled at her. "Yeah."

Cameron still hesitated. "Um...I'm your lunch buddy today so I'll snag you when it's time."

"Right." Chase wasn't happy about that, but he'd deal. Cameron was far easier to distract than House was. So he nodded at her then headed for exam room one. But the image he carried with him was of Father Anthony coughing up blood.

**THE END...of part 17**


	18. Chapter 18

**REWIND...part 18**

He hid out in the clinic for the rest of the day, other than being dragged off to lunch by Cameron. Chase had wished then that he could just blow her off and go for a run instead, but Cameron was like a dog with a bone in regards to her desire to help him deal with a condition he didn't even have. Which translated into the fact that she took her job as a food buddy very seriously. Chase gave himself points for not giving in to the temptation to dump his lunch over her head. He also felt he deserved points for keeping lunch down. His stomach was way too full, but it had been easier to simply eat than deal with Cameron asking if he wanted something else or if he was okay.

The rest of his shift went easier. None of the clinic patients came in with anything major to deal with, and Chase was somewhat able to float along with his mind just distracted enough to keep him from feeling like he wanted to punch the wall, or at the very least crawl out of his own skin. Although it was probably the two cans of Coke that were making him jittery, on top of the three cups of black coffee. At one point Chase thought he might truly be able to climb up the wall, he was so agitated.

He was with a patient when Foreman came to get him. Chase finished up then collected his gear from the locker room, grateful that Foreman had grabbed his messenger bag for him from the conference room. Now he didn't have to worry about running into House. He wasn't feeling up to dealing with the man right now.

"Where's Cameron?" Chase asked, as they exited the building and made their way to the parking lot.

"She took off early, said she had to run some errands and she'll meet us," Foreman replied. He led Chase over to a black BMW, using the keypad to unlock the doors.

Chase took a moment to appreciate the car. "Nice," he commented.

Forman looked a bit rueful. "Should be for the price."

"Yeah." Chase knew they weren't cheap.

"Drop in the bucket for you though," Foreman continued, as they got in and buckled up.

Chase didn't have a response for that. He knew Foreman resented the fact he had money and he wasn't in the mood to argue about something he had no control over. He had never seen it as his money anyway. Foreman, apparently, didn't seem to feel the need to continue either, for which Chase was grateful. They made the drive to the bar in relatively companionable silence. Which lasted until Chase exited the car and his knee decided to buckle on him. "Dammit!" he hissed under his breath as he caught himself with a hand on the car door.

Foreman was by his side in an instant. "You okay?"

"Fine." Chase tested his knee. It ached and was sore, but hadn't bothered him all that much till now. During the day he had found himself limping a few times, but he'd managed to compensate for it. But now the bastard was acting up. Perfect timing. Great way to end his crappy day. Pushing away from the car, he made himself take a few steps. Painful, but nothing unbearable. He felt a bit of dampness though, against the bandage which he'd check on later.

"You don't look fine," Foreman stated, moving to Chase's side with one hand out. As if prepared to catch him or something.

Chase waved him off. "I'm good. I just...I tripped and fell yesterday. Just a stupid fall and I banged my knee a bit. It's nothing."

Foreman studied him a moment, then nodded. "More embarrassing than anything else?" he guessed.

"Pretty much." Chase was more than happy to go along with that explanation. Playing the fool was always easier than explaining yourself to people who really didn't give a damn anyway. He headed for the door, Foreman close behind, and the moment he was inside he spotted Cameron at a corner table. "We're with her," Chase said, pointing Cameron out to the waitress who came to greet them.

"Follow me." The waitress smiled at Chase, giving him a blatant once over.

Which Foreman didn't miss. In fact, he snorted his amusement. "Wish you could teach me how to do that," he said, clapping Chase on the shoulder. "Must be your superpower."

Chase had to grin at that. "I'd rather have the power of invisibility," he replied.

"I thought you already did," Foreman shot back, his tone serious.

"Funny," Chase commented, but what Foreman said bothered him. Even though that's what he often tried to do. Be invisible. He just hadn't really thought anyone had noticed. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Although right now he was too tired to care either way. Instead he followed the waitress and plastered on a smile as he reached Cameron.

She smiled back. "I ordered us a round of drinks," she stated.

Chase was surprised by that. All the more so when he took a sip of his and realized it was his favorite. Which meant Cameron paid way more attention to personal details than he felt comfortable with, but he managed to smile and thank her. Then he took another sip. He was hoping the alcohol would help him to chill out.

The waitress handed out menus but Chase didn't need it and said as much. Cameron echoed him and Foreman stated he'd be ready to order by the time they had. So Chase ordered a cheese burger and a salad. He figured that would be fattening enough for Cameron to stay off his back. He listened to her order a turkey sandwich with fries, while Foreman ordered a cheeseburger with fries. While the waitress scribbled it all down, she managed to flirt with Chase at the same time. He offered her a smile since he found it rather amusing and a bit flattering.

The moment the waitress left, Foreman teased Chase about the waitress. Again. "She's warm for your form, man."

"You're just jealous," Chase shot back, rather enjoying the exchange. It wasn't personal and it felt basically normal for them. And normality was something he craved right now.

"She's awfully pretty," Foreman conceded.

Cameron made a face and said, "She's too old for you." Then she covered her mouth and her eyes went wide. She was obviously horrified by what she'd said. "Oh...Chase, I'm so sorry. That was stupid of me."

He shook his head at her. "Don't worry about it." The comment did make him think of Vanessa, but with fondness rather than grief. It made Chase wonder if he was immune to grief at this point, or maybe he had never really experienced it first hand. Or maybe he was just too used to it and it felt more comforting than anything else at this point.

"Making any progress with House?" Foreman interjected, directing his comment to Cameron.

"Progress?" she repeated, although it was clear she knew what he meant.

Foreman snorted. "Ask him on any more dates?"

Cameron's reply was to throw a wadded napkin at Foreman, then turn the tables on him. "So who's Cecelia?" she queried.

"Beats me," Foreman smoothly countered.

"Someone new?" Chase jumped in, more because he was happy to have the focus off of him than because he was interested.

Foreman mock glared at him. "She's a woman."

Chase laughed. "I never would have guessed that by the name." Then he and Cameron spent the next ten minutes teasing Foreman about her and getting very few details. But it killed time until the food arrived. Chase stared at the burger set in front of him, the Waitress handing out his first. It was huge, more like a super burger than a plain old cheese burger. The salad wasn't much better. There was enough in the bowl to feed all three of them.

"Now that's a burger," Foreman commented, eyeing his with appreciation.

"Texas sized," Cameron noted, then she turned her attention to Chase. "Some milk would be good with that, don't you think?" She didn't allow him to reply before giving the order to the waitress for a large glass of milk.

It was the last thing Chase wanted, but he didn't argue the point. Arguing with Cameron was senseless, he knew that from experience. It would be less stressful to bang his head against the wall. So Chase tuned everything out and focused on taking a bite of his burger. It tasted fine, but he wasn't the least bit hungry. In fact, chewing and swallowing took his complete concentration. Once he got it down, he was grateful to the milk that was delivered right on cue. He wasn't sure the burger would have stayed down if he didn't chase it with a few swallows of milk. After that, Chase picked up his fork. He figured he'd do better with the salad.

They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, then Foreman brought up work. "You know, I still can't believe we lost Father Anthony so fast. Although, all things considered, it's something of a miracle that he lived as long as he did. His internal organs were a mess."

"You don't think divine intervention had anything to do with it, do you?" Cameron queried, looking more than a little skeptical.

"Hell no!" Foreman looked amused. "I think the bastard was too damn miserable to kick off sooner. He held on just to make other people miserable right along with him. I swear, for a Priest who's supposed to love his fellow man...he hated everyone." Foreman glanced over at Chase. "Except for you. You he seemed to like."

Chase shook his head at that. "He didn't like me, I just surprised him is all."

Cameron stared at him with curiosity shining in her eyes. "Surprised him how?" she prompted.

"I knew someone like him in Seminary, Father Michael," Chase replied. And he was rather surprised at himself for doing so. He never talked about himself for a reason, but in a sense this was a safer topic than at least a dozen he could think of. So when Foreman and Cameron eyed him with curiosity, he decided to explain himself. At least a little bit. If only to keep Cameron from hounding him about eating. It was bad enough she was watching every bite he took. "Father Michael took an interest in me when I started seminary, but not for the reasons I had supposed."

"What reasons then?" Foreman asked.

Chase sighed. "My parent's wealth. He considered money to be...evil."

Cameron gave a decidedly unladylike snort of disapproval. "That's ridiculous!"

"Maybe so, but he believed it," Chase replied. "But I had bigger sins than that."

"Like what?" Foreman looked genuinely interested to know.

Before Chase could respond, Cameron interjected by pointing at Chase's plate and issuing an order. "Keep eating."

To appease her he took a bite of the salad, ignoring the way she was watching him with a frown on her face. A swallow of milk forced the food down, then Chase answered Foreman. Sort of. "You really don't want to hear about this," he stated. Because now that he had started talking about it, Chase felt uncomfortable. He had never told anyone about his talks with Father Michael.

"I do," Foreman insisted. "Come on, man. What was your big sin?"

"My looks," Chase said, feeling his face flush a bit. How he looked had been an issue for him for as long as he could remember. Mostly in a negative way.

Cameron made a face. "Your looks?" she repeated.

Chase dropped his eyes to his burger, tearing the bun a part for something to do. House's words about anorexics whispered in his head and Chase mentally cursed the man. He didn't realize he had become distracted by his own actions until Foreman tapped him on the shoulder.

"So what about your looks?" he queried. And he looked vaguely interested in a reply.

"Father Michael believed that pretty people..." he paused to make quotation marks in the air before continuing, "...were sinners because they sold their souls to the devil for their looks."

Foreman laughed at that, almost snorting his drink out his nose since he had been taking a swallow.

Cameron was not amused, she was indignant. "That's ridiculous!" she ranted. "How a person looks is purely genetics!"

"Yeah, I told him that," Chase replied, but his mind was slipping into the past. He still clearly remembered sitting in the front pew of the church with Father Michael looming over him. He'd been angry at what the Father was saying, denying it by pointing out that he looked like his mother. And Father Michael's reply still had the power to hurt.

_"She was a sinner too, Robert! That's why she became ugly before she died. God punished her for her sins!"_

A touch on his arm drew him out of his reverie and Chase was surprised to see Cameron eyeing him with concern.

She rubbed his arm and asked, "You okay?"

"Fine." He drew his arm away under the pretext of reaching for his drink. He took a swallow even though he really didn't want anything in his stomach right now. His insides felt like they were twisted into knots.

"Chase..." Cameron began, only to be interrupted by the waitress who appeared with slices of cheesecake.

She smiled at Chase as she set a slice in front of him. "On the house," she whispered, leaning in to him and setting a napkin deliberately in front of him. It had a name and a phone number scrawled across it.

Chase was surprised but tried not to let it show. He slid the napkin into his pocket before Cameron or Foreman could see it, then smiled at the waitress. "Thanks."

"Do you need anything else?" she asked, sounding hopeful.

"We're good," Cameron interjected, her tone sharp.

Chase found himself rather amused by her sudden need to be protective of him, yet at the same time he allowed her to run the waitress off. Only to regret it when Foreman started grinning at him.

Leaning in, Foreman whispered, "So you got her number and dessert and you didn't even have to tell her you're a doctor. Smooth, Chase."

"You're an ass," he replied, hoping Foreman would just drop it.

"You should eat that," Cameron jumped in, pointing to the cheesecake. "You can use the calories."

Chase blinked at her. "Pot...Kettle," he replied, dead pan. He heard Foreman snort in reaction but didn't take his eyes off Cameron's face. She looked a bit hurt but shook it off.

Pushing the plate at him she repeated, "Eat."

"You eat." Chase pushed back his chair and stood up. "Anyone for a game of pool?" He looked hopefully at Foreman, willing the guy to get him off the hook here. And, for once, Foreman came through.

"I'm in." Foreman stood up as well.

Cameron got up looking frustrated. "Chase, you hardly touched your dinner," she complained.

Foreman responded before Chase could. "Give him a break, okay? He'll eat when he's hungry."

"What he said," Chase stated, before Cameron could argue the point. He tossed a fifty on the table. "My treat," then he headed for the back room where the pool table stood. He was well aware of the silent glances that passed between Cameron and Foreman as he reached for a pool stick. "Who wants to break?" Chase asked.

"You can," Foreman offered, grabbing a stick of his own.

The next hour passed smoothly, with Chase trouncing Foreman, then Cameron, the Foreman again consecutively. Cameron was about to play him again when her phone rang.

She fumbled in her pants pocket for a moment. "Hello?"

Chase ignored her until she started stammering. Then it hit him who she was talking too. Moving to confront her he asked, "Is it House?" The guilty look on her face was all the confirmation Chase needed. He grabbed the phone and snapped, "House...what do you want?"

"Did you eat?" House didn't mince words.

"Yes, Dad!" Chase shot back, then he closed the phone and handed it back over to Cameron. "You know what? I'm tired." He put his stick back then said to Cameron, "I'll call a cab. Thanks for the invite."

Cameron blocked him when he tried to leave. "I told you I'd drive you home."

Chase shook his head. "You don't have to." In truth he didn't want her too. He wanted to be alone. Or at least not alone with a stranger who wouldn't hover over him.

"I'll take you," Cameron stated firmly, then she grabbed him by the arm and practically hauled him towards the exit. 

"I really don't mind calling a cab," Chase said, figuring it wouldn't hurt to give it one more shot.

But Cameron was determined. "I want to drive you home and, before you ask why, it's because I want to make sure you get home safe. Otherwise I'll worry. So it's about my needs, not yours. Okay?"

Her desire to convince him that she really wasn't trying to babysit him, made Chase laugh and forgive her blatant attempts. "Fine...you can drive me," he said, giving in. They almost made it out the door when the waitress appeared.

"Have a good night," she called out to Chase. "Hope to hear from you."

"Goodnight," Chase replied, and that was all Cameron would allow him to say. She practically shoved him out the door then led him over to her car. He got into the passenger seat and was grateful for the quiet. He was still fighting off a headache and after buckling up, Chase leaned his head back against the seat and massaged his temples.

Cameron glanced over at him. "You okay?"

Grimacing, Chase lowered his hands and offered a smile. "I'm fine. Just tired, like I said."

"You didn't eat much," Cameron chastised. "You're never going to get better if you don't eat."

"I don't have to get better," he shot back. "I'm not sick." And once again anger flared inside him. Only he didn't want to be angry with Cameron. She didn't mean any harm with her concern, but it just felt like one more person trying to smother him to their own will.

Cameron looked like she was going to argue the point, then she started the car instead and eased into traffic. But just as Chase started to relax, she picked back up again, but in a different tack. "Why don't you ever talk about yourself?" she asked, or rather more demanded. "I mean...what you told us about Father Michael? That was the most you've ever said about yourself in the three years I've known you."

Chase gave her an amused look. "If I did talk about myself, who would listen or care?"

"I would," she said, quietly.

"You'd be bored," Chase shot back, because he didn't want her to say things like that. She wasn't supposed to care about him. Which was why he immediately segued into something else, so neither one of them had to think about this. "Seen any good movies lately?"

Thankfully, Cameron got the hint to move on and they chit-chatted the rest of the way to Chase's house without getting into anything more intensely personal than each other's preference for Batman movies. The moment Cameron eased the car to a stop, Chase was unbuckling and reaching for the door knob.

Cameron gripped his shoulder to stop him. When he turned to face her she said, "It's okay to let people care about you, Chase."

"I don't need people to care about me," he replied, shrugging off her hand and stepping out of the car. Before she could even think about getting out he was leaning in to tell her, "Thanks for the ride, and the dinner invite. I had fun." With that he shut the car door and headed up the steps. He was relieved when Cameron didn't follow him and he heard the sounds of the car pulling away.

The moment Chase was inside, he heard sounds from the kitchen and the light was on, which meant Wilson was there. Heading straight upstairs was Chase's only thought, but before he could even reach the stairs, Wilson appeared.

He studied Chase a moment, then asked, "How's the leg?"

"It's fine." And even as he answered, Chase realized he had been limping on it. He froze. After a moment of awkward silence he said, "I'm going to bed." Making himself not limp, Chase swept past Wilson and climbed the stairs. He took a shower and changed the bandage on his knee. After pulling on boxers, sweat pants and a t-shirt he called into bed and grabbed the remote. He actually was tired enough to doze off in the middle of the program he had been half-heartedly watching. But he dreamed about his mother and the Seminary. After jolting awake a few times, the last in a cold sweat, he gave up the pretense of sleeping. He was reaching for the remote when he heard footsteps moving past his room and realized it had to be Wilson. Leaving the channel alone, Chase waited. After half an hour passed without any other noises he slid out of bed and pulled on socks. Locating his running shoes, he grabbed a hoodie and pulled it on, then he slipped out of his room, down the stairs and out the door.

He couldn't run very well though, not with his sore knee. But he still managed to go a mile out and back before practically stumbling into the house. Stopping in the kitchen, Chase raided the fridge in search of Gatorade, but there wasn't any. He figured that was probably Wilson's doing but he was too tired to even mentally curse the man out. Instead he settled for bottled water, downing half of it before heading up the stairs. He was limping heavily and when he reached his bathroom he downed four aspirin before hitting the shower.

By the time Chase was dressed in clean boxers and tee, he was trembling with exhaustion, which was just what he had been hoping for. When he crawled into bed and closed his eyes, he fell asleep almost instantly. And he made it through the night without dreaming.

OoO

His body gave him a wake up call, six hours later. Chase felt achy and his knee burned where the covers brushed it. He hadn't bothered to bandage it after his last shower. Tossing aside the covers, he studied the injury and saw the skin was tight and dry. He'd slather ointment on it then bandage it after a hot shower. He was hoping the heat from the water would ease the ache in his muscles.

The shower did seem to help a bit, and he was sure the four aspirin would help as well. Pulling on boxers, Chase took care of his knee then got dressed for the day. He pulled out black khaki's and a blue shirt with a tan and blue tie. A dark blue jacket completed the ensemble and he tied on sneakers, deciding to be comfortable today. Once he ran a brush through his hair he was ready to head downstairs.

Surprisingly, Wilson wasn't up yet. Chase busied himself making eggs and toast and by the time the toast was buttered, Wilson had appeared, dressed and ready for the day. "Hope you're hungry," Chase said, setting a platter heaping with scrambled eggs and toast on the table. He had a point to make. Like the fact he was fine and didn't need anyone watching over him.

"Smells good," Wilson said, taking a seat. He filled his plate then watched Chase fill his. "Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough," Chase replied. He didn't take as much on his plate as Wilson had, but it was enough. "You?" he countered.

Wilson smiled and nodded. "The mattress on my bed is very comfortable."

Chase almost smiled back. "Good," he said, then he focused on eating. He was grateful when Wilson did the same and didn't feel the need for inane chitchat. Besides which, talking would no doubt just aggravate the headache that was throbbing in his temples. It was making him lose what little appetite he might have had as it was. To the point where he managed to wade through only half his serving of eggs and a few bites of toast. Glancing at his watch, Chase made an excuse to leave the table. "I'd like to get into work early so I'm going to brush my teeth then take off." He didn't wait for Wilson's reply, instead rapidly exiting the room and heading straight up to his room.

He barely made it to the toilet before emptying his stomach contents. Scrambled eggs coming back up tasted gross. The moment he was done dry heaving, Chase rinsed his mouth with a mix of water and mouthwash, then he brushed his teeth. Twice. After splashing cold water on his face and brushing his hair again, he felt ready to face the world. More or less.

Coming out of the bathroom, he froze to see Wilson sitting on his bed. The look on the other man's face let Chase know that Wilson had heard him heaving. "Did you want something?" Chase asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

"Feel better?" Wilson countered, his eyes roving over Chase's face with an intensity that Chase could almost feel.

"I'm fine," he replied. "I just ate too much, too fast. Never pays to be a glutton."

Wilson sighed. "We both know the problem is that you're not eating enough. And when you do eat it's the wrong thing as a rule. Your body isn't strong enough for the abuse you're putting it through."

Chase felt offended by that. "Abuse?" he hissed. "What are you talking about?"

"Like running when you're too worn out and injured," Wilson shot back, not missing a beat. "You don't eat enough to fuel your body and you know that, Chase." He paused a moment then added, "Too many sleeping pills aren't helping either. You're system is out of whack."

"Is that sound medical terminology?" Chase shot back, fighting hard against the anger that was rising like bile in the back of his throat.

Wilson stood up and moved into a confrontational stance before Chase, arms crossed over his chest and determination scripted into his face. "I want to do physical work up on you. We can go in right now, before anyone else gets in."

Chase was stunned and shook his head. "No!" He shouted the word even though he didn't mean too. He didn't want to lose control of this situation. All he wanted was to be left alone to live his life and he was getting so damn tired of people fucking with him. He knew Wilson meant well, but it was grating on Chase and eroding his ability to keep his cool under pressure. An ability he had learned at an early age and honed to perfection. An ability that served him well in working with House.

"I'm going to do the exam," Wilson countered quietly. "But I can do it on the side so that it stays between us...or I can mention it to House and you know how he'll react."

"You can't force this issue," Chase countered. "You're not my doctor."

Wilson shrugged. "Better me than House. And you know he's listed as your physician and you know that he is in control of your life right now."

Chase did know and he felt an overwhelming sense of fear and frustration. Which he didn't have the luxury to wallow in. Instead he forced himself not to think about what the repercussions would be if he refused what Wilson was forcing on him. Which meant he did what he always did, and gave in. "Fine...I'll meet you there." He made to walk past Wilson but a hand caught his arm.

"I'll drive," Wilson insisted. "You're still shaky."

"Whatever." Chase really didn't need a reminder of his present condition. Let Wilson think he was shaky from being sick. In truth he was shaky because he was scared. The kicker being he wasn't even sure what he was scared of. Which made it worse. His fear was like a metallic taste in the back of his throat and he could swallow hard enough to get rid of it. Instead it lingered and made him feel ill. He just hoped to God what he felt didn't show.

Wilson nodded and headed out the door, obviously expecting Chase to follow him.

Which he did. They got in Wilson's car and Chase didn't say a word all the way to the hospital. Wilson seemed to respect his silence. He only spoke once they entered the lobby. "We can use an exam room in the clinic."

"Fine." Chase could hear how clipped his tone was as he followed Wilson to the clinic. He found himself relieved to see Nurse Barbara Jenkins at the desk. She was very discreet and he knew she wouldn't mention to anyone that he and Wilson had been there. So he waited while Wilson explained he needed to borrow the back room for a few minutes, then Chase followed the other man into the room. "Is this really necessary?" he asked, as he watched Wilson close the door.

"I think it is," Wilson said firmly. "Sit." He pointed to the exam table.

Feeling uncomfortable, Chase did as he told. Removing his jacket when Wilson asked him too. Then he suffered through having his heart and lungs checked, his pulse and blood pressure taken, his eyes examined then the thermometer shoved into his ear. "Happy now?" Chase asked, when he felt sure Wilson was finally through. The man was scribbling something on a chart sheet on the side counter.

Wilson looked up at him. "No, not yet. I'm going to draw some blood."

"Why?" Chase was stunned at the thought. He had allowed the exam, figuring it would get Wilson off his back, but this was pushing things too far.

"I think you're anemic and that's something we can take care of," Wilson replied, his tone grave. "And that's a start anyway." He pointed to Chase's left arm where he had just rolled down his sleeve after having his BP done. "Roll it back up."

Chase considered refusing, but he knew Wilson would just use the threat of telling House against him. So he rolled up his sleeve and held out his arm. Wilson was good with needles and Chase felt nothing more than a bit of a pinch. He watched his blood flowing into the tube almost abstractly. Three vials of it in fact. "Gonna make up things to test for?" he asked, as Wilson removed the needle, swiped his arm with a cotton swab then stuck a Band-Aid over the puncture.

A smile curved Wilson's mouth at that. "Maybe I'm a vampire," he countered, with mock seriousness. "I used to want to be one when I was a kid."

"A vampire?" Chase echoed, laughing a bit in spite of still being pissed at the guy.

"Seemed cool at the time." Wilson was pulling off his rubber gloves and tossing them aside. "What about you? What did you want to be as a kid?"

It wasn't in his nature to answer what he would normally consider too personal a question, but the answer was out before he could stop it. "A priest."

Wilson turned and stared at him in surprise. "Really? Why a priest?"

"Because they talk to God," Chase said softly, as he worked his shirt sleeve back down and buttoned the cuff. "At least that's what I believed until I was ten."

"What made you believe otherwise?" Wilson prompted, looking sincerely interested.

But Chase had said too much and he felt too exposed. Sliding off the table he intended to change the subject but the moment his feet hit the ground his knees buckled. He grabbed at the table for support and found strong hands gripping his shoulders. 

Wilson was pushing Chase down onto the nearby stool. "Put your head down."

He did it only because he wanted the dizziness to pass. A moment later he lifted his head and said, "I'm fine."

"You need to get some food in you," Wilson countered, and his eyes glinted with something close to anger. But whether it was anger in general or anger at Chase he couldn't tell and, truthfully, he didn't want to know.

"I'll grab something on my way upstairs," Chase promised. Because he knew they were the magic words to getting out of the room. And they worked, he was allowed out the door and he was tempted to run all the way. Instead he walked by Nurse Jenkins and headed for the nearest food machine. He plopped some change in and picked out a granola bar. The one thing Chase did remember about today was that he had another weigh in with House. So he forced himself to finish off the granola bar before heading to diagnostics. 

Unfortunately, the room wasn't empty as he had hoped it would be. The surprise being that House was the one occupying it. The man was never early or even usually on time, so to see him here now was almost shocking.

House had been writing on the white board, but he stopped as Chase entered the room.

"Are you sick?" Chase asked, as he moved to the side table and, another shocker, the coffee was already made so he poured himself a cup.

"Just messing with you," House replied, moving to join him and hold out his own mug for a refill. "We have a case," he announced.

Chase put the coffee pot back on the pad then stared at House in surprise. "Really? Where from?"

House looked amused. "Meandered into the emergency room apparently. Cuddy called me last night and greeted me with the file first thing."

"What are the symptoms?" Chase found himself almost eager to begin diagnosing. Work was something familiar and comfortable. Something he could lose himself in.

"Weigh in first," House countered, popping Chase's tiny bubble of almost happiness. He limped towards his office, stopping at the door. "Come on, slim."

Chase grimaced at the nickname, knowing House was just trying to aggravate him. Sadly, it was working. Still, he followed the older man into his office, noticing that the scale was already in place on the floor. Sitting there waiting for him. Mocking him, really. Chase found himself glaring at the stupid thing. Until House's cane tapped on it, shaking him out of his reverie.

House was watching Chase closely. "Step up, no lines, no waiting," he taunted.

"You do know you're not funny, right?" Chase stated, even as he did as ordered and stepped on the damn thing. He didn't watch the blur of red before the numbers appeared. He didn't want to know.

"We have a loser, ladies and gentlemen," House intoned, then he looked at Chase and waited until Chase looked back at him. "You lost half a pound. What are we going to do about it?"

Chase stepped off the scale, scowling. "You know what...I don't care what you do," he replied. "But I'm going to work." He'd almost made it to the conference room door when House's next words stopped him.

"If I put you on medical leave of absence and send you to a treatment center...then you won't have to worry about work." House spoke softly, but his words echoed loudly in the room. So loud that they made pain throb in Chase's temples. 

"You wouldn't do that?" he whispered, turning back to face House. But given the look on the other man's face, Chase knew he would. If only because he could. Chase hated begging but he could feel desperation washing over him in waves. "Please don't do that," he pleaded, and he saw something flicker in House's pure blue eyes. Something he couldn't catch long enough to identify. Pity maybe? Chase hated the very thought of that.

House was quiet for so long that the air seemed to thicken, visibly, with tension. Then he was dropping down into his chair and rubbing a hand over his face before stating, "You don't seem to be leaving me any choice."

Chase took that as House telling him he had another chance. "I'll gain weight," he promised, and he meant it. Because he knew House would take great delight in sending him away. Maybe he shouldn't worry that the man could do it. Chase had lawyers at his beck and call who could probably make House fold. But Chase knew his boss, he knew that House would bulldoze over everyone and everything to do what he thought needed to be done. If he wanted Chase sent away, then he'd make it happen. Only Chase was desperate to stay. "Just give me some time," he added.

"You have one week." House made it sound like a death sentence. He pushed out of his chair then limped over to the door. "You coming? We have a case, remember? Or did you lose a half a pound of brain cells?"

"Be there in a minute," Chase replied, because he suddenly realized he was shaking and he couldn't face Cameron or Foreman like this. He had seen them through the glass and they were looking this direction.

House paused then nodded. "Don't be long," he said, before opening the door and exiting into the conference room.

Chase watched him go and the moment he was alone he sank down into a chair and fought the urge to laugh.

**THE END...of part 18**


	19. Chapter 19

**REWIND...part 19**

It took Chase a moment to pull himself together enough to join the others. He rather appreciated the effort Foreman and Cameron made to act like everything was normal. They stayed focused on the patient file. House had to make some comment about him finally deciding to join them, but that was what passed for normal too, so Chase could accept it.

He joined in on the differential, then headed out to his assigned task. Running and MRI with Foreman. During which his colleague made it a point to harass Chase about his lack of knowledge when it came to American sports. Something he could deal with, happily. Once the tests were done, they headed back to the conference room. Chase made a pit stop at the vending machine for a granola bar. He would gain the weight House ordered him to gain if it killed him.

House noticed him eating and arched an eyebrow, but nothing more was said.

Chase was grateful. He spent the rest of the day running tests, tossing out ideas, and eating whenever he could force something down. By the end of the day he felt over full, had a headache and wanted nothing more than to go to bed. Only to remember he'd come in with Wilson. Grabbing his messenger bag, Chase headed for his room mates office. Wilson was just closing up but he waved Chase in.

"Have a seat for a minute," he invited, waving at the chairs. "I want to talk to you."

"It can't wait?" Chase really wanted to get home.

Wilson sat down behind his desk. "It could, but I'd just as soon discuss it now."

Chase felt too tired to argue the point, so he sat down. "Okay...what?" He couldn't tell by the neutral expression on Wilson's face it if was going to be good news or bad news, so to speak.

"I got your blood work back," Wilson began. "No surprise to find that you're anemic."

"Is that it?" Chase wasn't the least bit surprised, so he made to stand up.

Wilson waved him back down. "I've talked to House and he told me about his...ultimatum...to you."

Chase grimaced, but he figured House would have told Wilson. The whole point of Wilson staying with him was to keep an eye on him and report back to House. That Wilson had kept a modicum of confidentiality between them was just Wilson's sense of fair play, nothing more. So Chase merely nodded.

"He's serious, you know." Wilson expression shifted from neutral to grim.

"I know. He'd do it just to mess with me if for no other reason," Chase replied. He realized one knee was bouncing as a sign of the agitation he was feeling, so he clamped a hand over it and hoped Wilson hadn't noticed.

Wilson got up and moved to lean against the front of his desk, directly in front of Chase. "He'd do that," he allowed. "But if you can't change the pattern of your behavior, Chase...it would be in your best interests to get treatment."

Chase was out of his chair and glaring at Wilson. "Easy for you to say, isn't it? Do they have a treatment center for chronic cheating?" The moment the words were out of his mouth he wished he could take them back. "Sorry...I'm sorry." He meant it.

"I wish they did," Wilson countered, a look of discomfort on his face. "I can't help what I do...but at the same time it doesn't affect my health, Chase. What you're doing does."

"I know you and House think I'm sick or something...but I'm not!" Chase was getting so damn tired of repeating himself about this. Maybe he'd make a video recording of it and send them both a copy.

Wilson sighed, one hand scrubbing over his face. He looked worn out and older than his years in this moment. "You do realize that nothing will change until you accept the truth. Which means you won't start getting better until then. Which means..."

Chase cut him off. "You think I'll end up in treatment by this time next week." It actually hurt to say that. To know that Wilson believed it. Which was stupid. Chase didn't give a damn what the man thought about him. He didn't care what anyone thought. Although a tiny voice in his head was screaming LIAR at him for that one. Chase tried to tune it out.

"I think you're drowning and you don't know which way is up at the moment, and you're too damn stubborn to accept a helping hand so someone can pull you out," Wilson replied.

"How profound!" Chase snapped back.

Wilson shrugged. "The truth is the truth no matter what words I use. You need help."

Chase locked eyes with him, daring him to say more. When there was nothing but a painful moment of silence that dragged on, he said, "I'd like to go home now."

"Sounds like a plan," Wilson allowed. He gestured for Chase to precede him, then they stepped out of the office and headed for the elevators.

The drive home was made in resolute silence. Once inside the house, Chase headed for the kitchen. He knew he needed to eat if he was going to beat House at his own game. He wasn't in the mood for anything elaborate, but when he opened the fridge, he found a macaroni and cheese casserole that Maggie had made for them. Pulling it out, Chase headed for the microwave.

Wilson came in and sat down at the table, watching him.

"Maggie makes the best macaroni and cheese," Chase said, simply because the tension in the air was getting to him.

"I'll bet." Wilson grabbed a napkin and began shredding it.

Chase grabbed plates and silverware and put them on the table. Then he grabbed glasses and a can of soda for Wilson and milk for himself. He poured himself a glass then put the milk back, then he grabbed a loaf of fresh Italian bread and the butter. It would be a few minutes before the macaroni and cheese was ready. He might as well start stuffing the calories in.

Wilson accepted some bread and they ate in a more companionable silence, with Chase eventually prompting a work related discussion on House's latest case. Then dinner was ready and they ate, chatted about the weather and sports, then Chase conceded defeat. He hadn't even eaten half of what was on his plate, but if he ate just one more bite he was going to throw up.

"I'll clear the table when I'm done," Wilson offered.

"Thanks." Chase stood up and brought his plate to the sink. "Um...I might need something to help me sleep tonight," he blurted out. He hadn't wanted to ask, but until he could get to the drug store tomorrow and stock up on some pills, he had no choice but to ask. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise.

Wilson looked surprised, but nodded. "Are you going up to bed now?"

Chase shook his head. "I'm going to shower first."

"Okay...I'll bring something in about twenty minutes." He watched Chase a moment, then went back to eating.

"Thanks." That was all Chase said before leaving the room.

Twenty minutes later he was showered and ready for bed and Wilson appeared on cue with a syringe. Which Chase hadn't been expecting. "What are you giving me?" he asked, even as he held out his arm. He felt tired into his soul and he wanted a chance to sleep without dreaming. He just wasn't sure his idea of help was the same as Wilson's.

Wilson gestured for him to get under the covers. "It's going to work pretty fast," he stated.

"What are you giving me?" Chase asked again, since Wilson didn't answer the first time.

"Does it matter?" Wilson waited for Chase to get settled then he swabbed his upper arm with an alcohol pad before injecting him. He swabbed the spot again then said, "I want you to understand that the only reason I'm doing this tonight is because I know you're exhausted, and I'm hoping that a good night's sleep will help you to deal with everything better. You've got an uphill battle ahead of you, Chase."

He knew that better than anyone, but he was determined to win for once. Not that he was going to debate the matter with Wilson, even if he could. Whatever it was the Oncologist had given him, it did work fast. Chase felt a warmth seeping through his veins and a pleasant drowsiness washed over him. "Thanks," he whispered, even as he closed his eyes.

Wilson patted his shoulder then he moved to the door, turning off the lights as he went.

OoO

Chase slept without dreaming until dawn. Then flashes of images and memories scrawled through his mind. He remembered the first time his mother had ever hit him. He was 8 and had accidentally knocked over her glass of what he'd thought was orange juice. What else would she be drinking at breakfast time? A few years later he had learned the truth. She liked vodka in the morning and gin for the rest of the day.

There were a few good memories. She had come to his first football match, to cheer him on. But he'd asked her not to come after that because she wasn't in control of herself and he was afraid she would embarrass them both. Something she seemed to understand to the point where she was happy to let him make excuses for why she couldn't attend various functions and why after his 8th year, she never showed up for teacher's conferences and chatted by phone with them instead.

But, ultimately, the bad moments outweighed the good and jolted Chase to consciousness. When he glanced at his watch he was relieved to see he had slept over eight hours, and he knew he wouldn't be able to fall back to sleep, even though it was early. He was half tempted to go for a run, but he didn't want to sabotage himself. So he settled for a long shower which helped to wash away his lethargy. Then he headed down stairs, he was surprised to see that Wilson was already up and making breakfast.

"You're up early," Chase commented, as he went to the fridge for some orange juice. Only it made him remember the dream so he settled for a glass of milk instead.

"Couldn't sleep," Wilson replied, and he was backed up by the dark circles under his eyes.

Chase was surprised by the confession. "Anything wrong?"

Wilson turned from the stove where he was making scrambled eggs. "Nothing specific, just have a bad night now and then."

"Yeah...I can relate." It wasn't something Chase would have normally said to anyone, but he felt comfortable enough with Wilson at this point. Not exactly by choice, of course, but it was a moot point to quibble over now.

"How did you sleep?" Wilson countered, as he carried a plate of eggs over to the table. Almost like he had known Chase was up and ready to eat.

That was a thought Chase didn't want to focus on. He sat down and accepted the platter, filling his plate half full. There was toast already on the table and he took one slice and buttered it before replying. "I slept well. Whatever you gave me did the trick."

Wilson was watching him intently. Apparently he approved of what he saw because he nodded then sat down to fill his own plate. "I'm glad. Not that one night of good sleep is going to be a cure all, Chase," he reminded him.

"Yeah...I know. Doctor here." Chase felt a bit petulant, but tried to keep his attitude out of his tone of voice. He was tired of everyone seeming to forget that he was a doctor and he was old enough to take care of himself. Hell, he'd been doing so for most of his life.

"Doctor's should never try to diagnose themselves," Wilson shot back. "We have a tendency to be in denial when it comes to ourselves."

Chase decided this conversation had gone on far enough. "I'm going to drive myself in today," he stated, before digging into his eggs. He had eaten a few bites already and was feeling full, so he knew he'd have to just stuff some more in before conceding defeat.

Wilson arched an eyebrow at him but nodded. "That's fine," he allowed, now devoting attention to his own plate.

They continued with breakfast in silence. Chase managed to finish half his serving and he noticed Wilson watching him as he dumped the rest.

"Small meals several times a day would probably work best," Wilson offered.

"You're probably right." Chase figured there was no harm in being agreeable, besides which Wilson was right. He set his plate in the sink along with his half finished milk then said, "I'm going to brush my teeth then head out. I think I'd like to go for a bit of a drive before heading in to work. Clear my head."

Not lifting his eyes from his plate, Wilson nodded. "Sounds like a plan. I'll talk to you later then."

Chase didn't respond to that, he simply slipped out of the kitchen and up to his room. He brushed his teeth, avoiding his reflection in the mirror, then grabbed his jacket and headed out. The first thing he did was head for a twenty-four hour drugstore. He picked up two boxes of sleeping pills and tucked them in his blazer pockets. Then he did go for a bit of a drive before stopping at a donut shop for coffee and a bagel. He was still the first one to show up and managed to eat a bit of his bagel by the time Foreman arrived.

"How's it going?" Foreman asked, as he shrugged out of his suit jacket then headed straight for the coffee maker.

"Fine," Chase replied, hoping that would be the end of the conversation and they could pleasantly ignore each other until Cameron and House showed up.

But Foreman took his mug to the table and sat down across from Chase. "Can I ask you a question?" he blurted out.

Chase had been attempting a crossword puzzle, but he set it aside and locked eyes with Foreman. Whatever this was going to be, he wanted to get it over with quickly. "Sure. Ask away." Didn't mean he was going to answer it.

"Why are you trying to kill yourself, man?" Foreman asked, and with a sharpness edged with anger. Like he was mad at Chase for something imagined.

"What the hell kind of question is that?" Chase shot back, feeling his defenses rising in a reflex action.

Foreman didn't back down. "It's an honest question," he replied. "You don't want to see it, but what you're doing is killing yourself slowly. And I just don't get it. You're young and bright and rich. You've got a future ahead of you as a doctor. And when you're not skin and bones you've got the kind of looks that have women lining up to go out with you. You've got everything a man could want. So what the hell is wrong with you? Start living already!"

Chase stared at Foreman in disbelief. The speech he'd just delivered was crap and he told him so. "You're full of shit, Foreman. I'm not trying to kill myself...I'm just going through an adjustment period. If that's a problem for you...too bad. What I do and how I handle my life doesn't concern you...nor does it affect you in any way, shape or form." Anger roiled through Chase and he got up and started pacing, feeling so jittery inside that he felt like he might jump out of his skin.

"You're right," Foreman said, after a moment of electric silence. "What you do doesn't affect me in that it doesn't change what happens to me and my life. But that doesn't mean I'm comfortable sitting back and watching you disintegrate before my eyes."

"Then don't watch!" Chase snapped back, and he felt nausea coiling in his belly. He had to swallow hard against the bile that was rising in his throat. He was just about to leave the room when House appeared, his blue eyes intently focused on Chase.

Limping over to the table, House queried, "Did I come at a bad time?"

Foreman glanced at his watch, smoothing out his expression as he did so. Nothing showed but wry amusement. "You feeling okay? You're early."

"Just trying to mess with you," House shot back, his gaze never wavering from Chase's face.

"Seen Cameron?" Chase asked, wanting to distract House's attention off of him. Yet at the same time he was rather glad House had appeared. It jerked him out of his anger and because of that his stomach was settling.

House nodded. "She had to make a pit stop in the ladies room. Heads up...I think it's that time of the month so expect extreme bitchiness."

Foreman rolled his eyes. "Do we have a case?"

"We do." House threw a file on the table.

Chase grabbed it first and felt relief wash over him. Now he had something to focus on.

He made it through the rest of the day, managing to stuff himself full of calories and keep it all down. Not that it was easy. He avoided Foreman as much as possible and followed this same pattern for the next two days. But he met his downfall at night. Even though he'd bought sleeping pills, he was trying not to use them. The only problem being he felt so jittery and anxious that it made him feel ill. To the point where tonight he ended up puking dinner into the toilet.

A long, hot, shower didn't help. Wilson had gotten called back to the hospital to deal with a patient, so Chase did the only thing he felt he could do. He went for a run. Three miles. Not too long but long enough to help him relax. Another hot shower and he figured he was good to go for sleeping. Only he ended up staring at the tv for two hours before giving in.

He would take just one pill.

Only they weren't in the bathroom drawer. Nor were they in his bedstand. Not in any dresser either, although he hadn't figured they would be since he knew he'd put them in the bathroom drawer. The only thing Chase could figure was that Wilson had taken them. "Sonofabitch!" he cursed, even as he marched down the hall and into Wilson's room. His room really, which was how Chase justified what he was doing. But a search of the bathroom turned up nothing.

He was reluctant to go through the dressers, even though they were his. But it felt like an invasion of privacy to ruffle through Wilson's things. Yet Chase found himself doing just that. He tried to be careful though, putting everything back exactly as he found it. He had reached the last drawer when he sensed a presence. Whirling around he was horrified to see Wilson lounging in the doorway.

"I flushed them down the toilet," Wilson said quietly.

"You had no right!" Chase hissed, and his anger made him willing to get in Wilson's face.

Wilson merely shrugged at him. "I'm trying to help you."

Chase didn't believe him, nor did he have enough patience to reply. Instead he pushed past Wilson and stalked down the hallway, back to his room. Once there he grabbed jeans and a pullover and got dressed.

"Where are you going?" Wilson asked, this time hovering in Chase's doorway.

"Out!" Chase barked, snatching his keys off the dresser and grabbing his leather jacket.

Wilson blocked his way. "Out where? It's late."

Chase felt like laughing and slugging Wilson at the same time. He settled for cold anger. "This is my house," he drawled. "And I'm an adult. Which means I don't have a curfew and you can't ground me. So get the hell out of my way." He was almost surprised when Wilson actually stepped back. Chase slid past him and hit the stairs running.

A thirty minute drive later he reached a bar called O'Shea's. He went inside before he could talk himself out of it and ordered a whiskey. He rather hated whiskey, so it was a safe choice. He wasn't really here to drink, he just wanted to be some place where no one knew him or would judge him. He wanted to disappear in a crowd of strangers.

It worked for about fifteen minutes, then a pretty brunette sat down beside him and introduced herself. Her name was Maria, she was thirty-two, single and an accountant.

Chase made his own introductions and offered to buy her a drink. She was pretty and smart and charming. She flirted with him and when she invited him back to her place, he went. When she asked him to stay the night, he stayed. To his surprise he slept without dreaming, but woke up with a jolt at five am. Sliding out of bed he used the bathroom then got dressed. She had paper on the nightstand and he left her a note. He felt a bit guilty leaving without saying goodbye, but he didn't want to face her because he didn't know what her expectations were. She'd given him her card with her number, but she didn't have his. It was better that way, but it didn't make him feel less guilty.

Once in his car he turned his cell back on. Not surprisingly there were three missed calls. All from Wilson. Chase sighed and headed for home. He was relieved that Wilson wasn't up to greet him at the door. He was able to go for a run, shower, and have breakfast made before Wilson put in an appearance. Chase waited for the barrage of questions to begin. To his surprise Wilson only had one question as he grabbed a glass of juice.

"Did you have a good night?"

"Yes." Chase filled his plate with two of the pancakes he'd made then held the platter out to Wilson.

Wilson gave a tired smile as he accepted it. "That's good. Was she pretty?"

Chase felt a flare of irritation. "Does it matter? Is anything I do even remotely your business?"

"Guess not," Wilson said quietly, his attention focused on his plate. "Pass the syrup?"

Grabbing the bottle, Chase held it over then he tried to apply himself to his own food. He managed to choke down one pancake before giving up. Rising from the table he dumped the rest, put the plate in the sink then headed for the door. As he passed by Wilson he mumbled, "See you at work."

After brushing his teeth and glaring at his reflection in the mirror, Chase grabbed his keys and was out the door. But he knew today was going to be a bad day. He was too fucked up for it to be anything but.

OoO

"So how did he do at the weigh in?" Wilson asked.

House finished chewing his bite of Rueben and swallowed before replying. "Failed spectacularly. Guess I should look into those treatment centers."

Wilson sighed. "You need to give Chase a break. He's trying. Give him credit for that."

"Trying isn't good enough," House shot back. He grabbed the bottle of soda that was on Wilson's desk and took a long swig. Setting it back down he added, "And he's run out of time."

"By who's time table? Yours?" Wilson felt a stirring of anger. "This isn't about you, House. Chase's needs come first."

House looked amused. "Since when did you become his champion?"

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Wilson abandoned his own lunch. "I have no clue," he drawled. "But I do know that if you push Chase too hard right now...he will break."

"I know." House said it quietly, almost reverently.

"Isn't he enough of a puzzle for you to try saving him?" Wilson queried. And he was truly curious to know the answer.

House wasn't playing the game though. "The thing is, he has to want me to save him. He's not at that point yet."

Wilson could see the logic in that, even though he didn't agree with it. "But what if he breaks before he gets to that point?"

"Then it'll suck to be him," House replied, then he grabbed the remote and turned on the tiny black and white TV he'd conned Wilson into buying a few months back. "Shhh," House hissed, before Wilson could say a word in protest. "Something bad is going to happen to pretty much everyone on General Hospital today. Can't miss viewing."

"The show is stupid," Wilson scoffed, even as he turned his chair to get a better view of the tv screen.

House smirked. "Life is stupid." Leaning in to Wilson he announced grandly, "Welcome to my world."

**THE END...of part 19**


	20. Chapter 20

**REWIND...part 20**

Chase was running tests with Cameron, and wishing she would stop glancing sidewise at him. It made him feel almost like she expected him to do tricks or something. Or worse, start a conversation. But maybe that would be the thing to do. Maybe if he asked Cameron about the last movie she saw, or something, then she'd stop staring at him.

Before he got a chance to say anything, his beeper went off. To his surprise it was Cuddy. "Gotta get this," Chase said to Cameron.

"Who is it?" She looked curious.

"Cuddy." Chase said nothing else as he headed for the door.

Cameron called to him, waiting for him to turn back around to ask, "Is everything okay?"

Chase shrugged. "Sure. Why wouldn't it be?" Then he left before she could say anything else. He stopped at a vending machine long enough to grab a Mountain Dew, then he headed straight to Cuddy's office. She was waiting for him, and she wasn't alone. Dr. Burns was standing by the window. Chase felt his stomach drop.

"It would appear you missed your last appointment, Dr. Chase," Cuddy said in greeting, as she gestured for Chase to take a seat.

"I'm sorry, I forgot about it." It wasn't a lie or the exact truth, and Chase ignored the chair. He wanted out of there as soon as possible.

Dr. Burns was watching him, carefully. "I paged you several times."

Chase remembered deleting the pages. "Sorry. I didn't get them." He could lie with the best of them when necessary.

"Well...I've been out for personal reasons for the past two days," Dr. Burns stated. "But I've cleared the next hour in my schedule for your session, Dr. Chase. So why don't we go to my office and get started?"

"I'm right in the middle of a new case with Dr. House," Chase countered. He would use whatever excuse necessary to get out of this.

But Cuddy wasn't going to let him get away with it. "I'll talk to House," she said firmly. "He'll understand."

Chase knew enough to drop it. House would push this on him if only to torture him. So he plastered on a smile and followed Dr. Burns out the door. Five minutes later they were in her office and Chase had to resist the urge to bolt.

"How have you been?" Dr. Burns asked, as she moved to sit behind her desk.

"Fine." Chase intended to be succinct. He just wasn't in the mood to deal with this at the moment.

Dr. Burns looked at him then nodded. "Is there anything you'd like to talk about?" she prompted.

Chase found himself pacing so that he wouldn't feel like she was able to watch him so closely. It was hard to pin your focus on a moving target. "Nothing," he replied. "Everything's good."

"You seem a bit anxious," Burns stated. "If something's bothering you, this is the perfect place to talk about it."

"The only thing bothering me is having to be here!" Chase snapped, and instantly regretted it. He knew his loss of control would just make Burns more convinced he needed to talk.

Leaning back in her chair, Burns eyed Chase with curiosity. "Well, it's obvious you're feeling irritable. Is it at someone in particular?"

Chase stopped pacing and turned to glare at her. "What part of I don't want to be here, didn't you get?" he countered. "I'm pissed off that I have to talk to you. Isn't that enough?" He really hoped it was and that she'd let him leave.

"You usually have better control over your emotions." Burns let that comment hang in the air between them.

"I'm tired of everyone pushing their nose in my business," Chase responded, after a long moment of silence had passed. He locked eyes with Burns. "I'm not sick or crazy or a child," he stated, pausing a moment to scrub a hand over his face. He felt suddenly weary to the bone and he wished he could just go home and start this day over. But he couldn't, which meant facing Burns and dealing with this, then moving on. "I'm tired of people treating me as if something were wrong with me. Like being forced into these sessions. I'm not suicidal or anorexic. I've just had a lot happen and I should be allowed to deal with it my own way, in my own time."

Burns held his gaze for a long moment, then she got up and headed for the file cabinet in the corner. After rummaging around in it, she withdrew something then returned to her desk. She held the object out to Chase.

He frowned as he accepted it. "It's a notebook," he said, stating the obvious.

"Consider it your journal," Burns replied. "Write down what you think and what you feel. Write down curses if you like, or poems...song lyrics...whatever. Then next week maybe we can talk about some of what you've written. Or talk about other things."

"Or talk about nothing?" Chase interjected, because he wanted her to understand that he wasn't okay with having to do this. Writing in a stupid notebook wasn't going to change that. Even if it did get him out of talking to her at the moment.

Burns shrugged. "Fair enough. But I expect you to report to the session next week. On time."

Chase nodded. "So I can go now?" When she nodded back, he left quickly. Shoving the notebook into his lab coat pocket, Chase headed for the locker room. Technically he still had almost an hour to kill of session time and he was tempted to change into sweats and go for a run. He felt jittery and angry and out of control and he didn't want to face anyone, especially a patient, feeling this way. He didn't want to make mistakes of any kind. Medically or personally.

But he knew that running for the release or just running away, weren't options he could avail himself of. Which meant he had to settle for popping a few Tylenol in the hopes of relieving the headache that was plaguing him, then he had to pull himself together and head back to the office.

Somehow Chase managed to pull it off. To focus on work and eating and acting like everything was okay. Because it had be okay. He wasn't sick so all he had to do was convince House he was fine. He could feel the older man watching him intently, but during the course of the next three days, nothing was said.

Wilson had backed off as well. Of course, with Wilson it was a case of ignorance was bliss. Chase ate breakfast and supper with him every day, managing to eat enough so that nothing was said. He also stayed home and gave the pretense of going to bed early. By ten each night. And he would doze off until his alarm went off at one AM. At which point Chase would get up and go for a two hour run. He'd jump into the shower when he got back, take a sleeping pill, then sleep until seven without interruption. He was almost proud of himself for doing so well. Other than puking dinner back up on occasion. Which was no big deal.

He had two more days before the big weigh in. That night Chase went running again, heading into the kitchen when he returned for a glass of Gatorade and nearly jumping out of his skin when the light clicked on before he reached for it.

"Good run?" Wilson asked, from where he stood just inside the doorway.

"Fine." Chase breezed past him, going to the fridge and grabbing his Gatorade. He drank straight from the bottle, ignoring the fact that Wilson was watching him intently. There was no point in making excuse or trying to lie. Chase knew he'd been caught out, not that it should matter. He was a grown man and this was his house. He could do anything he wanted.

Wilson moved to sit down at the kitchen table, wrapping his blue robe more snuggly around him as if cold. "I found the sleeping pills," he stated.

Chase stiffened at that, feeling anger lurch through him. "You have no right to go through my things. This isn't your house!"

"Then why don't you kick me out?" Wilson countered.

"I --" Chase began, but broke off because he didn't have an answer for that.

Wilson seemed too. "House told you I had to be here so...you let me stay. At least that's part of it, right?" When Chase didn't respond he continued as if it didn't matter. "You're afraid of what he'd do if you kicked me out. But maybe you're also afraid to be here alone. Maybe a part of you wants me here. Maybe you need me to be here."

Chase shook his head at that. "I'm doing you a favor!" he shot back. "Where else would you go?"

"I'd find a place," Wilson replied. "That's not an issue here, Chase. I think you know you need help. You just don't know how to ask for it."

"No...you...no," Chase knew he was babbling so he shut up. He was tired and angry and he didn't want to deal with this. So he made a move towards the door only to find Wilson suddenly blocking his way. "Move!" Chase hissed at him.

But Wilson stood firm, arms folded over his chest. "You have to stop doing this to yourself, Chase. Stop punishing yourself."

That last bit hit Chase like a slap in the face. "I'm not punishing myself! I'm trying to get on with my life and no one will let me!"

"You mean House won't let you?" Wilson countered.

"Are you going to tell him about the running?" Cold dread twisted in Chase's stomach. If House found out about it he'd send him away for sure.

Wilson looked resigned. "I have too."

Chase felt sick, nausea slamming over him. But he swallowed hard and whispered. "Please don't." He was begging and he didn't care.

"Chase..." Wilson began.

But Chase wasn't listening anymore. Anger fueled something in him and he felt himself reacting. He grabbed a pot off the counter and hurled it into the wall. A dish and a glass followed then he was reaching for the cupboard door when hands gripped him, pushing him against the wall and a solid body pinned him there. He started to fight back but Wilson stopped him with an ease that was frightening.

Feeling himself shaking, knees buckling, Chase sank to the floor.

Wilson sank down with him. "You done?" he asked.

"Why won't everyone leave me alone?" Chase whispered, feeling tears burn in his eyes. But he didn't let them fall. That would be giving away too much.

"Maybe because we think you're worth saving, even if you don't," Wilson softly replied. Then he gripped Chase by the arm and pretty much hauled him to his feet. "Let's get you in the shower then to bed. I'll give you something to help you sleep."

It was what he wanted, but Chase was surprised Wilson was going to give it to him. "Why?" he asked.

Wilson merely shrugged then nudged him out into the foyer. "You need a good night's sleep. I'll call House and tell him we're going to be late."

"I don't need you to babysit me," Chase protested. And it was a moment of pure deja vu.

"Sure," Wilson replied, and he was obviously being patronizing and not caring that it showed.

Chase pulled away and climbed the stairs to the second floor. He strode into his room and shut the door. Then he stripped off his sweats, got into the shower and scrubbed himself from head to toe under the hot spray of water. He felt sore and tired as he got out, yet not the least bit relaxed. He pulled on boxers and a t-shirt and stepped back into his room to find Wilson waiting for him.

Waving to the bed, Wilson told him, "Get in."

Since it was easier to obey than argue, Chase complied. Once he was stretched out under the covers he held out his arm for Wilson, who sat on the side of the bed, syringe in hand. Chase watched him swab a spot then insert the needle. He didn't even feel a pinch. "You're wrong," he said softly.

"About what?" Wilson prompted, as he swabbed the area again after the injection. He capped the syringe then looked at Chase.

"I don't need to be saved," Chase replied. "I'm not sick or dying or giving up or anything stupid that anyone thinks I'm doing." And that didn't make a whole lot of sense, but he really didn't care at this point. The drug in his system was working fast and Chase felt a pleasant and heavy warmth steal over him.

Wilson sighed softly. "I can't make you see what you don't want to see," he stated. Then he patted Chase on the arm. "Get some sleep."

Chase closed his eyes and slid into darkness.

OoO

He slept until noon the next day, without dreaming. For a moment he felt relaxed but then anxiety kicked in and fear followed close behind and Chase was up and in the bathroom, gagging over the toilet. He knew it would be judgment day when he went into work and he wasn't ready to face it. Or face House. But running away still wasn't an option. There was no where to run and Chase had worked to hard to find a place here to want to run really.

After a moment he managed to calm himself enough to get in the shower. He washed up, dried off and got dressed. After brushing his teeth he headed downstairs and he was surprised to find Wilson sitting at the kitchen table. "Why are you still here?" Chase asked, as he went to the fridge. But after staring at the contents he closed the door without taking anything out.

"I was waiting for you to wake up. I figured you might sleep for another hour or so." Wilson was glancing at his watch as he spoke.

"What the hell did you give me?" Chase shot back. Because he sure as hell hadn't expected to be out for so long.

Wilson set aside the book he had been reading, placing it neatly beside a plate that held the remains of a sandwich. "I wanted you to get some rest, Chase."

Since it didn't really matter what he'd given him, Chase switched topics. "Did you tell House about my running?"

"I told him everything," Wilson said quietly. "Are you really surprised, Chase? You know that's why I was here. To keep an eye on you."

"To rat me out!" Chase snapped, although he knew he wasn't being fair. Sure that's what Wilson was doing, but he did know all along that would happen. Wilson and House were friends. Wilson did whatever House told him to do. Of course he was telling him everything. Chase had known that so he wasn't really surprised, he just couldn't help feeling betrayed. Not that it mattered. He headed for the door. "I'm going to work," he called over his shoulder.

Wilson caught up to him. "I'll drive."

Chase thought about arguing the point, but figured it was pointless. And probably safer if he didn't drive. He knew he wasn't exactly focused at the moment. He felt sick to his stomach about the confrontation that was to come with House. So he got into Wilson's car and said nothing on the drive.

Once at the hospital, he went directly to the conference room. Only House was there, staring at the white board, where he had a list of symptoms listed. "Sleeping beauty awakes," House drawled.

"What do you need me to do?" Chase countered. He knew what was coming though, he just wasn't about to let House see how scared he was about it.

"My clinic hours," House replied. "They're waiting for you. See you in about three hours." He waved a hand at Chase, dismissing him.

Chase fled. Maybe this was nothing more than a means of making him sweat over things, but he didn't care. It was a momentary reprieve and he was going to take it. Only the three hours turned into six, then Chase was called into ICU to cover for another doctor for half a shift. It was after nine pm when he made it back to the conference room.

Not surprisingly, House was in his office and called Chase in. "Sit," he ordered, using his cane to point to the chair across from his desk.

"What's this?" Chase asked, pointing to the bottle of vodka on the desk and beside it, an orange bottle of pills without a label.

"Sit first," House said, locking eyes with Chase.

So Chase sat down, feeling his stomach twisting into a knot. Something bad was about to happen and he had to resist the urge to flee. Instead he made himself hold House's gaze as he stated, "I know Wilson told you about my running."

House nodded. "And the sleeping pills. He knows you've been throwing up too. And I don't need a scale to tell me you haven't gained any weight to speak of."

"So that's it then," Chase whispered, knowing he'd lost. Knowing it was over for him.

"You think I'm going to send you away now," House commented.

Chase shrugged. "That was the whole point, wasn't it?"

House looked almost amused. "Do you really think I have to power to do that? To just send you away?"

"You'd find a way," Chase conceded. "Threaten to fire me if I don't go. Something like that anyway." And he was positive Cuddy would back House up without argument for once.

"I wouldn't even have to go that route," House countered. "You know why?" When Chase simply continued to stare at him, he said, "Because you give me the power."

Chase frowned at that. He didn't understand what House meant, nor was he about to ask him. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to play head games with House. Chase knew he would lose.

House tapped his cane on the floor, staring at Chase for a long moment before continuing. "Do you know why you're anorexic?"

"I'm sure you're going to tell me why you think I am," Chase countered.

"Because what you eat is pretty much the only thing you have any control over at the moment," House replied. "You couldn't stop your mom from drinking herself to death. You couldn't make your dad love you back. You couldn't stop Vanessa from being a drunk. But you can starve yourself if you want too and no one can stop you. Not even me. So not eating and running until you're going to drop and even puking your guts out...that's all under your control. Gives you a kind of head rush, doesn't it?"

Chase felt anger flaring but he tamped it down. House was messing with him and he wasn't going to make it easy for him. Not this time. "Brilliant analysis," he drawled, making an attempt of relaxing back into his chair. "Brilliant...but wrong."

House ignored him, standing up and moving to the front of his desk so he was directly centered in front of Chase. "You're killing yourself slow and steady. But why? That's what I want to know. Penance for a lapse in faith? For Kayla's death? For not being able to save your mom? Because even though you can be idiotic, Chase...you're not an idiot. You know none of that was directly your fault. That stuff falls under the category of Shit happens."

"I'm done with this," Chase hissed, rising from his chair only to find himself blocked by House. A hand on his shoulder shoved him back down.

"It's stupid, really." House looked almost angry as he spoke. "It's like you're trying to rewind your life. At least hooking up with Vanessa was doing an instant replay. She was nothing more than a mommy figure, only you couldn't save her any more than you could save your mom."

Chase felt himself almost vibrating with anger, then he was glaring at House. "You're wrong!" he hissed, forcing himself not to yell. Not to lose control. Not to prove House right. "I loved Vanessa."

House nodded. "Maybe you did," he allowed. "But for all the wrong reasons." He grabbed the bottle of Vodka and the pills and thrust them at Chase. "Here...take them. If you're going to kill yourself then just get it over with. Swallow the pills with the vodka and I promise not to resuscitate you. Although please do try not to vomit on my carpet if you would. Although you shouldn't need to drink much vodka if you take all the pills. In fact, you should die almost peacefully. Take about fifteen minutes tops."

"What the hell are you doing?" Chase shouted, shoving the pills and the vodka back at House. He then pushed his chair back, stumbling over it a bit as he stepped away from the other man. He was shaking to the point where his knees almost buckled on him. This was insane. It was like a twilight zone moment or something.

"I'm trying to speed things up," House replied, not looking the least bit ruffled by Chase's outburst. "I'm tired of the show. You're killing yourself...I get it...get to the punch line already."

Chase shook his head at House, not believing what he was hearing. "I'm not trying to kill myself!" he protested. "How can you say that?"

House looked disappointed, and maybe a little bit angry. "You're a doctor, look at the facts. If you had a patient who didn't eat, pushed himself beyond his physical limitations, took sleeping pills...well...you know the facts. What would you think was happening? What would the outcome be?"

"It...I.." Chase felt something inside him snap and he sank to the floor as his legs gave up on him. He zoned out for a moment and suddenly House was beside him, holding out the vodka and the pills. Chase took them, realizing the cap was off the pill bottle. He stared at the white pills then shook them into his palm. Maybe this was what he was doing after all. Maybe House was right. Maybe this was the only thing that made sense. But even as he tried to convince himself this was the right thing to do, he found himself flinging the pills into the corner. "I don't want this," he whispered, scooting back till he hit the wall and wrapping his arms around his upraised knees.

"Then what do you want?" House asked. He was grunting a bit as he pushed to his feet, then he grabbed a chair and brought it over to Chase and sat down in front of him. "Figure it out, Chase," he ordered.

But it wasn't that easy and Chase didn't know how to explain it. "I don't know how to stop this," he whispered. "That's what I want. Just to stop this."

House was quiet for a moment, then he asked, "Stop what?"

"This...what I'm doing." Chase broke off, trying to gather his thoughts. "I want things to go back to normal," he said after a heavy moment of silence. During which House did nothing but watch him, and for once Chase didn't feel like something under a microscope. He felt almost like he was somewhere else watching this happen. But he did know one thing he wanted. "I want to be a doctor here and work, without it being so complicated."

"You have to be healthy for that to happen," House replied.

Chase bit his tongue against insisting he wasn't sick. He might not be sick but he was fucked up and maybe that was worse. Maybe House wouldn't want him here any more.

Tapping Chase on the shoulder to get his attention, House leaned in and his voice was sharp but not cold as he stated, "I want you to go to the treatment center for two weeks. They can help get you back on track with eating and sleeping. After that it's up to you to prove you can take care of yourself and do your job."

"So I can come back here?" Chase didn't mean to sound so surprised or so hopeful, but in the end all that mattered was being allowed to come back.

"You can come back, but if you don't change things...I will fire you," House announced.

Chase nodded. "Fair enough," he allowed, not letting that thought sink all the way in. Because getting fired wasn't acceptable. "When do I leave?" he figured House had it all taken care of anyway. Because getting Chase into the center had been his plan all along. And if they could get him back on track physically, he could fake the rest. He knew House would accept that because House was as messed up as Chase was and they both knew that. Their issues were different, but House was an addict so he couldn't push this but only so far. The difference between them right now was that House could still do his job. Chase knew he couldn't right now. But he was going to change that. Then everyone would leave him alone again.

House almost smiled, rising from the chair and moving back to his desk. He grabbed a piece of paper and held it out.

Rising to his feet, Chase walked over and took it. It held the name of the treatment center and tomorrow's date and time. Ten am.

"Wilson will drive you there," House said.

"Okay." Chase didn't say anything else because there nothing else to say. He simply walked out to find Wilson waiting for him at the elevator. Neither of them said a word as they stepped inside. But as they rode down to the first floor, Chase felt a little less scared and a little less broken.

He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer.

**THE END...of part 20 one more part to go **


	21. Chapter 21

So sorry for the delay on this. RL is being a snot. Between back to school for the kidlet, her dance classes, her getting sick and giving it to me and then painting my bedroom, life has been insane. But here's the end. Thanks to everyone for going along for the ride. I hope to have a new Chase centric fic in the works within a couple of weeks.

**REWIND...part 21**

House looked up from his box of finished noodles, eyeing Wilson's lo mein. Not surprisingly, Wilson glared at him and hugged his lo mein closer to his chest. House grinned, set his box aside, stretched, then said, "So Chase is coming home tomorrow."

"Yep." That was all Wilson would say as he continued dedicating himself to his food.

"You told him how Cuddy wants him to take a week off before returning to work, right?" House was actually a bit miffed at Wilson. Unfairly so, he knew, not that it mattered. But it seemed that Wilson was the only person Chase would talk to during his two weeks at the treatment center. Wilson would talk to him on the phone three times a week. House had caught them chatting once, when barging into Wilson's office, and Wilson had pointedly left the room while still chatting with Chase. He refused to gossip about the kid, other than to tell everyone that Chase was doing well. House had gotten a few more details out of him after the first week, like the fact that Chase had gained 2 pounds and was sleeping better. Wilson had insisted that if House wanted to know how Chase was doing, he could ask for details when he got back.

Wilson looked up from his noodles. "I told him," he confirmed. "He's fine with it. In fact he wants the week to adjust to being back home before coming back to work. Which I think shows he's getting his head on straight."

House snorted at that. "Chase's head has never been on straight. Not that he's totally at fault for that. Mommy and Daddy get a lot of the blame there."

"Sure." Wilson went back to eating.

"Are you trying to be annoying?" House asked, getting a bit confrontational. Wilson was usually much more talkative than he was being tonight.

Setting aside his box of noodles, Wilson shrugged. "Maybe," he allowed. "I guess I'm mostly just not good company tonight."

House was well aware of that fact. "Scared of sleeping alone in your new, big, scary apartment?"

"Ha ha," Wilson dead panned. "And it's not that big."

"That's because you can't afford big after two, expensive, divorces," House replied, with just enough smugness to his tone to make Wilson roll his eyes at him. "You could have waited to move out, you know. Like a few weeks after Chase came home. He didn't mind you staying with him."

Wilson heaved a dramatic sigh. "You know as well as I do that I can't babysit Chase forever. To be honest, I don't think he was all that happy when I told him I would be moved out before he got home. Which was all the more reason for me to go. In a way I was becoming a crutch."

House wasn't surprised by that. Chase was a strong kid, but he was also far more needy than he realized. Always seeking out someone to guide him. House also knew that Chase looked to him as a sort of father figure. Which bothered him more than he cared to admit at times. He was hardly the fathering type. Hence his reason for not wanting children. "You picking him up?" House queried, getting back to the conversation at hand.

"No." Wilson paused to take a drink of beer, then continued. "He said he wanted to take a cab and that he wanted to take advantage of the extra week to get back into the swing of things. So to speak."

"Guess we'll have to keep an eye on Cameron and not let her go sneaking off to see Chase," House drawled.

Wilson chuckled. "She's just annoyed that he didn't want her to come visit him."

House nodded. "It's going to be fun seeing the look on Chase's face when he comes back to work and Cameron hands over the stuffed Koala she got him."

"You'd better have your camera phone ready for that moment," Wilson agreed. He was quiet for a moment, thoughtful, then asked, "Do you think it helped? I'm mean, going to the center?"

"You're the one who told me he was doing good," House reminded him.

Wilson nodded. "I know. But can two weeks really make him better?"

House sighed, wondering how Wilson could be an oncologist yet still be so naive to the way people worked. "Chase didn't go there to get better. He went so he could get himself back under control. That way he could continue on the way he used to be. You know, pretend his little meltdown and loss of control didn't really happen."

"If that's true, then he's just setting himself up for another fall," Wilson replied, looking worried.

"Isn't that how we all live life?" House countered, pushing out of his chair and heading into the kitchen for another beer. He popped the top, took a swig, then returned to his chair to find Wilson watching him. Waiting for him to clarify his statement. "Everyone is dysfunctional in some way. No one is perfectly happy. No one has a great life. Anyone who claims to is simply delusional. We just go along pretending and at some point we all trip and fall."

Wilson looked amused. "Including you?"

House waved his cane in the air. "I've got visible proof. We take a fall and some of us stay down, the rest of us get back up and keep on keeping on."

"How profound," Wilson replied, hiding a smirk.

"So long as Chase doesn't go looking for another mommy figure, then he'll have made progress," House stated. And he hoped like hell that Chase had learned his lesson in that regard. He'd be better off hooking up with Cameron, although she'd no doubt smother him and they'd end up fighting spectacularly before breaking up and pretending it had never happened. Which would be fun to watch, at least for a while, House mused.

Wilson took another swig of his beer then asked, "So you're okay with him coming back still messed up?"

House shrugged. "A little damage makes him more interesting. Makes everyone more interesting. All I require of Chase is that he be functional as a doctor despite his damage."

"Kinda like yourself," Wilson commented.

"He does worship me and all," House countered, before getting up again and heading to his piano. He could tell by the look on Wilson's face that his friend wanted to discuss the damage issue. Which wasn't about to happen, especially while House was playing his favorite music. When he glanced over at Wilson, the other man was smiling at him. House smirked back and continued playing.

OoO

He was glad to be home.

After paying the cabbie, Chase climbed the steps and unlocked the door. He dumped his suitcase on the floor and just stood there for a minute, gearing himself up in a way.

It was strange to be home. He hadn't liked being at the treatment center, but he had understood the message House had given him. If he wanted to keep his job, he had to make changes. He had to be healthy and functional. The treatment center had gotten him back on track with his eating and sleeping habits. Six meals a day until he was up to par on his weight, and mild sleeping pills that he could slowly wean himself off of. Those were things he could focus on and handle. Things he was now back in control of.

Knowing Wilson was gone would be a bit of an adjustment. He owed the man dinner at the restaurant of his choice for the help he'd given Chase. Not the staying around to babysit him bit so much as being willing to be in charge of the renovations Chase had decided on.

The night before going to the center, Chase hadn't been able to sleep. TV wasn't keeping his interest so he'd wandered the house, ending up in the study and shuffling through a stack of Vanessa's architectural digest magazines. He'd found two pages that had caught his eye. One was a kitchen decor, the other a bedroom. So on the drive up to the treatment center, Chase had asked Wilson a favor. He'd given him the pictures, the number of Vanessa's decorator and a blank, but signed check. Money wasn't an issue. All Chase wanted was for the kitchen and master bedroom to be redone before his return and all of his things moved into the new bedroom. Now he was about to find out if everything was done to his liking. Wilson had told him, just yesterday, that everything was picture perfect, but Chase wasn't even sure he remembered what the pictures had looked like.

Turning towards the kitchen, he entered the room and felt like he'd entered the wrong house. Everything was different. All the stainless steel was gone and in its place was blond wood and glass and marble countertops that looked like terra cotta. He found himself smiling as he turned in a circle. Everything was perfect. It was exactly what he had wanted.

Heading for the fridge, he wasn't the least bit surprised to find it was filled. Maggie's doing, which he'd be sure to thank her for. He grabbed a small bottle of orange juice and opened it before heading for the stairs. The one room he had agonized about was the master bedroom. Chase knew he needed to make a permanent change and he thought that might be a good place to start. That and the kitchen. Both had rather become metaphors for what ailed him and if he could change them, they would be a reminder of the other changes he needed to make and keep permanently.

At the doorway to the master bedroom, Chase paused. He realized he was trembling and cursed himself for being afraid of a stupid room. Even though he knew that what he really was afraid of was change. Of what it meant. He shook one hand, as if he could shake off the trembling, then reached for the door knob.

Stepping inside he was surprised by the difference. It was completely different from before. The furniture was sleeker and more masculine. The colors of the walls, carpet, curtains, bedding and new couch and chairs now a mix of blues and greens. Chase stepped further in and was thrilled to see a corner desk set up with his lap top, and a small piano against the far wall. This was better than the picture had been and he felt himself relaxing. This felt like a place he could find comfort in. A place that would be familiar to him because it was something he had created for himself. Not so much a refuge, but a safe haven.

To that end, Chase sat down at the desk and opened the notebook he'd been carrying. His counselor had given it to him on his first day at the center, telling him that he should write down his feelings. Since it wasn't the first time that had been suggested, Chase had accepted it and done just that. In fact he'd pretty much written down his time with Vanessa in novel form. The notebook was almost filled. Since his coming home was a bit chapter in the story, Chase wrote down what he was felt about it. Not so much in the way most people might have. He wrote down what he was thinking and feeling in an almost abstract sense. Using a lot of metaphors and analogies that would probably make most people reading it believe it was a work of fiction. Some kind of fairy tale classic gone bad. But it worked for him. Writing everything down openly was too painful and suffocating.

After filling up a page, Chase closed the journal and headed for the closet. He slid open the doors and was happy to see all of his things had been moved in. Searching through the tall dresser, he found jogging pants and a sweat shirt. He wasn't going to run though, because for now it was another bad habit he needed to break. But his counselor at the treatment center had okayed him to bike ride and he only hoped the bicycle he'd asked Wilson to pick out for him was waiting in the garage.

Changing quickly, Chase tied on sneakers then headed out. The bike was there and it was exactly what he'd asked for. He owed Wilson a couple of dinners for everything he'd done. And he'd done it all without asking questions. He'd done it simply because Chase had asked him too. He wasn't used to people doing that, nor did he expect it to continue. But it was nice to revel in for just a moment.

He didn't let himself linger for long though. He wanted to be in motion. Straddling the bike, Chase headed down the driveway. He kept a leisurely pace for the most part, heading for town. It was lunch time when he finally came to a stop outside of Antonio's Pizza Place. He went in and ordered a slice of mushroom pizza, then worked on Sudoku puzzles at an outside table while eating. He then rode back home, took a shower and pulled on jeans and a pullover.

Wandering downstairs, Chase was pleased with himself. He felt a bit anxious at being back. A part of him was worried he'd fall back into old habits now that he was home again and no longer monitored. That thought bothered him because he knew House would fire him if he fucked things up again. He knew he couldn't expect House to keep giving him second chances. Although he'd gotten more of them from House than anyone else in his life. Which was irony personified.

After strolling through out the house for a bit, Chase found himself sitting down at the piano and idly playing a tune. He felt the most comfortable in this room. Vanessa's presence would always be a part of the house, but it was a familiar and warm presence here. He could remember her as the woman he felt he truly could have loved and had a life with, under different circumstances. But they'd met at a time when they had both been too messed up for each other. Chase could accept that now.

The psychiatrist at the treatment center had suggested to Chase that he had latched on to Vanessa as a mother figure. House had believed much the same thing. Chase didn't buy that though. Not really. Although he was willing to allow the fact he might have been attracted to Vanessa's addiction in the sense of wanting to believe he could save her in the way he hadn't been able to save his mum. The thing was, Chase knew he couldn't save anyone. Hell, he couldn't even save himself most of the time. Not without making his life more fucked up and complicated than ever.

He didn't want to think about that now, though. He had a week off to slide back into the real world and he wanted to enjoy the respite. No one to bother him, nothing to do, just let himself enjoy the quiet. Once he was back to work he knew his life would be chaotic again, but it would be a familiar chaos and Chase was ready for it.

OoO

The week passed by quickly. Cameron had come by once and Chase had been making spaghetti so he had invited her to join him and it had been a pleasant evening. Much less awkward than he had expected it to be and when she let her hair down, Cameron could be quite amusing and fun to listen too. She hadn't pushed him to talk to her, instead telling him anecdotes about what he'd missed at work and handing over a phone number from one of the nurses. Kelly. Chase remembered her and thought he might just give her a call. They had flirted at work a few times so it couldn't hurt to ask her to dinner or a movie.

Chase had called Wilson and taking him out to dinner during the week as well. He'd then gotten a call the next day from Wilson, letting Chase know that House was not pleased at not being invited. That had amused him for a time.

Now, however, it was the moment of truth and Chase felt nervous as he entered PPTH. Not all that surprisingly, Cuddy was at the front desk. He knew she had been waiting for him. So he plastered on a smile as he greeted her. "Hello, Dr. Cuddy."

"Welcome back, Chase," she said, a warm smile on her face. "It's good to have you back."

"Thanks." He left it at that and made to step around her, but she touched his arm and he turned back to face her.

Cuddy looked a bit uncomfortable at the moment, like maybe she had something unpleasant to tell him. Then she squeezed his arm before dropping her hand and said, "My offer is still open, Chase."

He frowned at her. "Offer?"

"To talk." Another warm smile graced her lips. "You have my number and I'm available at any time. I mean that."

"I appreciate that," Chase replied, and he meant it. He might just take her up on her offer too. There were a few things he wanted to discuss with her. More work related than personal, but for him it would be a bit like feeling like he had someone on his side here. Chase thought maybe Cuddy would be someone he could talk about what he wanted for himself here and not take it the wrong way. Not make it personal but keep things on a strictly professional level, which was what he wanted.

Cuddy looked pleased and looked like she wanted to squeeze his arm again, or maybe pat his shoulder, but she dropped her hand and simply nodded. "Good. I look forward to hearing from you then." That said she turned and walked off.

Chase watched her go a minute, wanting to make sure she wouldn't call him back again, then he headed for the elevator. It felt strange walking into the conference room and he looked around closely, almost feeling like something had changed but unable to put his finger on it. Until he realized something had changed. Or rather, someone. He had changed.

Dumping his gear, Chase headed for the coffee maker, feeling like a good strong cup today. He had just finished making it when he heard footsteps. Turning, he saw Cameron heading for him with a smile on her face. A moment later he was enveloped in a hug. Chase wasn't sure where to put his hands for a moment, then he awkwardly patted her back and she finally released him.

"It's good to have you back," Cameron said, and her sincerity was shining through.

"Good to be back," Chase mumbled, feeling a bit awkward about this. He'd never been good with physical expression.

Cameron nodded, taking a step back and openly studying him. "You look good. You gained some weight."

Without thinking, Chase replied, "You should try it some time." He almost gaped at himself for saying that and he waited for Cameron to snap back at him. Which she had a right too. Not that she wasn't too thin, but it wasn't like him to say such a thing, and he knew it was mostly a reflex reaction for all the flak he had taken. Not that she had been the one saying things. Chase knew she had been concerned about him. Wincing, Chase scrambled for an apology. "Sorry...I didn't mean that the way it sounded."

"I know." Cameron was actually smiling. "It's kinda nice to see you with a come back."

"I guess." Chase turned away to check the coffee and willed it to perk faster.

Another set of footsteps and Foreman was suddenly in the room. He joined them at the counter and grinned at Chase. "Bet it's good to be back," he offered in greeting.

Chase was grateful for that and nodded. "So far," he agreed. "Do we have a case?"

"Nope." Foreman shrugged. "We just sent the last one home yesterday, so nothing yet."

"Oh, how wrong you are, minion!" House announced, as he entered the room in a grandiose fashion, waving a file at them. He moved closer and tossed it to Chase. "Make sure you keep up with the rest of the class today," House ordered.

Chase felt himself grinning and trying to hide it as he flipped open the file and studied the contents. He had missed this more than he'd realized. The tension in his body was slowly dissipating and he ignored his, now done, coffee in favor of the new case. Five minutes later they were all involved in the differential and Chase felt like things were finally back to normal. As if the whole chapter of his life with Vanessa could almost be packed away and forgotten. Almost. He wouldn't ever forget her, but he could relegate it to his past and leave it there. The way he tried to do with everything. It made his life much less complicated that way.

The day slid by in a rush of hours filled with testing and more differential diagnosing. After a final check on their patient, who was stabilized for the moment, Chase headed off to get his things. It had been a good day, but a long one, and he was ready to go home. But when he grabbed his messenger bag, he pulled something from it and headed for House's office.

He didn't knock but just walked in, heading straight for the desk and dropping his journal on it with a light thump.

House looked up from his game boy, eyed Chase a moment then stared at the notebook. "And that would be?" he drawled the question.

"It's the journal I wrote in at the treatment center," Chase replied. He felt oddly at peace in this moment, when he would have expected to be nervous.

"And you're doing what with it?" House looked intrigued enough to put aside his game and sit up.

Chase locked eyes with House as he replied. "I want you to read it."

House looked a bit shocked at that, but recovered quickly enough. "Why?" There was suspicion clouding his tone.

"Because it'll cut out all the crap." Chase's reply was succinct. When House kept staring at him, he clarified. "I know you want to know things about me. I know you've asked Wilson and he'll only tell you so much. I know you'll speculate and then ask questions that will embarrass me or annoy me or whatever. This way you get everything you want in one neat package and maybe I won't have to suffer for a bit."

"Where's the fun in that?" House countered, looking amused.

Chase sighed. He knew House wasn't going to make this easy for him, and in a weird way he didn't mind. "Read it or don't. Toss it when your done with it either way," he instructed. Then he turned to head for the door.

House thumped his cane to get his attention. When Chase turned back to him he said, "You're not cured you know. Going to the treatment center and gaining a few pounds doesn't make things all better."

"But I am better," Chase insisted. He moved back to confront House across his desk. "I want to work here, under you. I know that to do that I have to be able to function. That means I have to eat and sleep properly, or as properly as this job allows. I'm doing that. And I can do my job."

"Good enough," House replied, looking pleased with himself.

Chase nodded and turned back to the door. He strode out without looking back, feeling House's eyes following him out. He didn't see House take the journal and shove it in a drawer. It didn't matter now. Chase was content. He'd made it over another rough patch and his life could go back to the way it had been. It was enough.

When he hit the exit, he was smiling.

**THE END**


End file.
